


Heartbeat in the Dark

by SquirrellyThief



Series: Moonlight Over the Forest [1]
Category: Forgotten Realms, The Legend of Drizzt - R. A. Salvatore
Genre: Adventure, Continuation AU, Don't say I didn't warn you, Last Threshold Canon, M/M, Starts off as a shameless romance novel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-05 22:49:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 72,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/728775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SquirrellyThief/pseuds/SquirrellyThief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Picks up after the events of "The Last Threshold"]</p>
<p>I am Drizzt Do'Urden, betrayed by a woman I thought I could trust, but knew was unstable, I wait to die in the snows of Icewind Dale. I believe no one will save me. I have been wrong before.</p>
<p>I am Artemis Entreri, determined to not let one of this world's few heroes parish on the whim of another. I do this not because of sentiment, but principle. So I tell myself.</p>
<p>I am Dahlia Sin'felle. I will not be slighted by these men I have taken as lovers. These men that have decided they would prefer the company of each other over me. I shall tear them asunder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Snowstorm

He tried to be quick. To collect what things he thought he’d need and set out before the more astute members of the party realized that he, his gear, and several supplies had gone missing. He shrugged against the chill of late winter as he fastened his pack to the saddle of the nightmare. The hellish beast stamped its hooves and shook its head anxiously, knowing the task its master was about to command of it. He patted its flank hoping to soothe its temper for a time. He made a noise to match the beast’s temperament when a voice called out to him over the wind:

“You will never beat the storm. Should you even find Drizzt you will be trapped on the mountain, provided the snow and wind don’t kill you both first.”

“This does not concern you, Effron,” Entreri snapped over his shoulder, no small amount of anger in his voice. “Let it be.”

“Take me with you,” the boy pleaded, catching Entreri by the arm, “Please. Your chances of finding him on your own are slim. My magic could-“

“No,” the assassin said sternly as though addressing a disobedient puppy, “Stay, Effron. If we both leave the others will be sure to come after us.”

“They will come after you anyway,” Effron argued, “Dahlia will anyway.”

“Then, I am trusting you to see that she does not,” Entreri led his steed toward the gate, “I will not ride all the way out there just so she can beat him bruised and bloody a second time.”

But the young warlock would not relent, “What would you have me tell her? Tell all the others? That you just… just _left_ in the middle of the night?”

“Tell them whatever you want; it does not matter to me,” Artemis sighed, pulling himself into the saddle and checking the fastenings on his gear one last time, “So long as they do not follow. I prefer to work alone anyway, so any tale you think to spin will not seem so far-fetched.” With that, he spurred his nightmare into a gallop and thundered off the way he and his four companions had come only a few hours beforehand, headlong into the unforgiving harshness of Icewind Dale.

Effron sighed and watched the human go. He lingered at the gates even when Entreri was well out of sight, contemplating what he might say or do to convince the group, Dahlia in particular, not to go after him, and why he didn’t want the group to come to his aid anyway. Did he feel that he still owed Do’Urden something? That he couldn’t just leave the ranger to die in the snow despite all the time the five companions had spent looking and came up empty? Or was this all some ruse so that the assassin could double back and sneak out of Icewind Dale and the constant gaze of the group and return to whatever it was he did when he wasn’t taking orders.

The young tiefling nearly jumped out of his skin when Ambergris’s voice rose up beside him, “Let’s be hopin’ that he finds the durned elf before the storm hits.”

“If anyone will be able to find Drizzt, it will be Entreri.”

“Ye reckon?” She laughed, but her heart wasn’t in it, “Let’s be hopin’ ye were wrong about the storm then, and they both come back in one piece.”

Effron nodded in agreement, “Let us hope.”

-0-0-0-0-0-

The rumble of thunder; too low to be heard over the roaring Dale winds, but close enough to vibrate in the chest and jar the heart. A powerful force of nature. The bellow of a god. The fields of snow; crisp and sparkling white, untouched by man or beast on either side. A chill wind from the east laced with razor sharp ice, chilling the skin to numbness and then cutting it to bits.  The smell of distant ozone. The thrill of flight. The distant loom of the mountain.

The ride through the tundra seemed significantly longer when he was riding into the storm. Or towards its beginnings it would seem: dark, heavy clouds loomed over the peak of Kelvin’s Carin threatening to burst forth with sleet and snow, but not quite ready yet. When Artemis Entreri finally reached the ruffled and bloody slope where the ranger had fallen to his lover, those dark clouds had already blocked out the sun, casting a deep false night over the land.

He dismounted carefully, though his elven boots would not let him sink into the snow. The nightmare stamped its flaming hooves restlessly as ice quickly melted around it. Artemis ordered the beast to stay put and swiftly picked his way along the path to the bright red patch where the ranger had collapsed and promptly disappeared.

“You can’t have gone far,” he mused, examining the area “Not with those injuries. Where did you go?”

The assassin scanned the mountain and what he could of the valleys, but the dark shadows cast by the storm clouds did not allow for much to be seen. With a deep breath, he closed his eyes and let his vision to slip from the visible spectrum, but still he saw nothing that would tell him of the ranger’s location. He sighed and reverted to visible light when his infravision proved useless.

On his second sweep of the easternmost patches of snow, a sparkling blue light caught his eye.

Twinkle.

Some digging and the assassin pulled the scimitar from the packed ice and slush. A bright blue beacon in the deepening gloom and a fresh light to see by. He flipped the sword over in his hand; it felt light but unnatural in his grip. Good that he had no intention to use it in combat. “It’s a start,” Entreri sighed, “but where is your brother? Your master?” He focused his search on the east side of the mountain, occasionally whistling for his mount to follow closer.

Still he found nothing. No scuff marks, no footprints, no blood or dropped gear.

“Did something carry you away?” the human turned his gaze skyward, but only saw purple-white lightening darting among the clouds and sending the rumble of thunder raining down on him. His time was running thin, and he would have to find shelter soon. Giving up now meant giving up any chance of finding Drizzt Do’Urden alive.

And that was not going to happen. No. Not this time. Of all the years of defeat he had suffered at the hands of that damnable elf and his companions, this would not be one of them.

He thought of Do’Urden’s companions, both new and old, and the reason the elf had dragged them all the way to this desolate and hopeless place. He recounted what the ranger had told the new of the old’s deaths, of the whispers they’d chased to this spot. “How strong was your girl in life, drow?” he inquired to the wind, “Could she lift you?” Entreri thought it possible given her upbringing, but had no way of knowing for sure. The Catti-Brie Battlehammer he had known was a young, clumsy, naïve, and fiercely loyal little thing. He had never seen her at her peak, though, and had no way of knowing.

A loud, sharp sound tore him from his memories. Initially, the assassin thought it to be natural; a falling rock under the press of the ever-increasing wind, and instinctively darted back to his horse. When his wits returned and he listened for noise, the assassin realized that it had been something different altogether. He strained his ears to listen.

In the distance, drifting on the wind and floating right past him, a quiet sound. Airy, rising and falling with the gale, speeding up and slowing down; the timbre of a song. The one they had heard in the forest.

Suddenly, he knew that sound. That too short rumble; sharp and high. He turned away from his steed and called, as loudly as he could manage into the elements, "Guenhwyvar!"

He heard his own voice echo in the slopes for some time, growing quiet and distant before the distinct sound of the great cat's roar echoed back to him. The thrill of that minor victory pounding in his heart, Artemis threw himself up onto the nightmare and spurred it up the slope, calling for the cat every time he lost direction. The echo of the mountain, and his growing deafness in the face of the gale hindered his search significantly, but when he'd all but lost his hearing a distinctive black shape appeared on the ridge above him, impatiently waiting to meet him and bounding off to show him the way to her fallen companion.

When he rounded the final ledge, steed complaining all the way, he blew a sigh of relief. He'd found him. Whether or not the ranger was alive, Artemis could not be certain at this distance, but, alive or no, finding the vanished Do'Urden was a victory in and of itself.

“How in the hells,” he sighed, dismounting and pulling his pack down with him, “did you manage this?”

Despite the gash to his forehead and a superficially broken leg, the drow was still whole and breathing and his remaining wounds were minor- though Artemis privately wished that he had accepted Effron’s offer, or had brought Ambergris or Afafrenfere with him so one of them could tend to these wounds. Snow was falling by the time he’d gotten the drow patched and stabilized enough to be loaded up onto the nightmare and moved.

“Is there a shelter nearby?” he looked to Guenhwyvar, knowing from experience she could understand him, “I cannot move him in this storm.”

The great cat paced in a quick circle, thinking then darted north and higher up the rise quickly leaving the human’s line of sight. She returned by the time human, steed, and passenger had reached the first northward turn, eager to lead the way through snow and sleet to the cave she and her ranger had called home once upon a time.

It was a trek to the north side of the mountain. The storm was rapidly escalating toward its peak by the time they reached the safety of the cave. A warmth rushed through the assassin’s skin when he left the howling wind and choking snow behind him. “Thank you,” he sighed, pulling off his damp and frosted cloak and loosening the ties of his leather jerkin.

The cat growled in affirmation, eyes trained on Drizzt.

“He’ll survive,” Artemis said, pulling the drow from the nightmare and dismissing the hellsteed to its home.

The panther ignored him, curling up beside her companion, resting her head on the ground beside his stomach.

With an exhausted sigh, the assassin collapsed beside them. For a moment, he thought to tell the cat to return to her Astral home then thought better of it. She wouldn’t listen to him anyway. She remained with them until the magic keeping her in the Prime Material plane wore off and she faded to mist with a dejected growl.

He turned his gaze to the mouth of the cave, watching the progress of the storm and letting the ache of the cold pull him toward sleep.

Just as his eyes drifted shut, he thought he could see someone standing at the mouth of the cavern. Then laughed himself to sleep at his paranoia.

-0-0-0-0-0-

 

He woke to the same darkness and noise he had fallen asleep to, with one key exception.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he breathed, propping himself up on his elbows.

She was older than he remembered her. Mature looking with her hair tucked back and straight dress. She stood, a shimmering and pale mist, at the mouth of the cave, a dark bundle resting in her arms. She watched him as he stood; blue eyes narrow and unblinking at the man who was once her most hated enemy.

Entreri approached her slowly. He did not want to risk her dropping whatever it was she was holding to attack him, ghost or no.

It was a bundle of kindling and firewood that she held out to him when he was close enough to accept it. She vanished, dust on the chill wind, when he relieved her of her burden.

“You have my thanks.”

Drizzt Do’Urden regained consciousness just as the assassin’s fire caught the larger pieces of kindling and no longer needed his immediate attention to stay alight.

“Good morning, starshine,” Entreri quipped as Drizzt groggily got his bearings. “Try not to move too much. The break in your leg isn’t bad, but I am not keen on seeing you make it worse.”

“Where are we?” he slurred back; words jumbling together in what was little more than an articulated groan.

“A cave in the mountain,” Entreri explained, offering a skin of water to his injured companion; who took it gladly, “your cat brought us here when the storm started.”

Drizzt looked over his shoulder to see the white haze of the snowstorm outside, taking several gulps of the water as he did so. The two men sat in silence as he woke and everything sank in.

“You came for me,” he said when his ability to speak had returned.

“It would appear that way.”

The ranger sat up, propping himself against the wall, “Wh- Thank you.”

Entreri nodded, but said nothing.

“She tried to kill me,” Drizzt sighed after some time. His gaze had been fixed on the fire since he’d thanked Artemis for saving him, and neither had said a thing.

Artemis chuckled.

“You knew.”

“That you were foolish enough to not see her madness? Of course,” the assassin chided. “I had hoped you would not be as foolish as I have been when it comes to the fairer sex, but it appears my faith was misplaced.”

Drizzt rolled his eyes taking the insult well, “Thank you.”

Artemis laughed again, “Is this why you keep me around? So I could taunt you and save you from disaster?”

“No,” he said, perhaps a bit too quickly.

The human tilted his head, genuinely curious, “Then why, I wonder, does Drizzt Do’Urden keep a man like Artemis Entreri in his company for so long?”

Drizzt lowered his gaze. He knew the other man had the answer to his question already, but for some reason he wanted Drizzt to put a voice to it. To say it aloud and admit to it. He wondered why the man had bothered to save him in the first place. He had told Drizzt “farewell” when he had fallen, and the drow had no reason to believe anyone would come back for him. He remembered hearing Catti-Brie singing to him, her embrace warm and pulling him into death. Why had Artemis denied him that?

A boiling anger found itself starting in his chest and moving up his throat, but it died before he could give it a voice, replaced with disappointment and despair.

“I’m not sure,” he confessed after some time. “Because I see the potential for greatness in you, and I feel your talent is wasted?” Both men knew that wasn’t the reason, though. “No,” he sighed, “No. It’s…” What was it? They were no closer now than they were in the past. Though they were no longer trying to kill each other, they were not exactly friends. Hells, they were barely even allies most of the time bickering across the table like old women at a card game. Perhaps things would be better if they had parted company. If Drizzt hadn’t gone to Artemis’s door that night in Neverwinter. If Artemis had just left and taken Dahlia with him to live and die in Calimport.

Then, for a brief moment, all he could think of was how badly he hadn’t wanted Artemis to die in Gautlgrym, and how relieved he was when he didn’t. How badly he had wanted Artemis to stay beside him.

How badly he desired the company of the man.

“I don’t know,” he said finally, “I just wanted you to stay.”

Entreri rolled his eyes, but said nothing.

Drizzt buried his face in his hands. How badly had he wanted to die out here! To be reunited with his wife on the other side and be relieved of the weight and responsibility of good deeds. He tried to pull up his knees and grunted when a sharp jolt of pain shot up to his hip as his injured leg strained against the splint. He settled for just one knee pulled to his chest, folded his arms across it, and laid his head down.

He felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder. Such an innocuously comforting gesture brought a wave of emotion in the drow that it took all of his willpower to fight. He leaned into the touch, practically begging for more, and the human, surprisingly, gave it to him. The assassin slid in close, draping an arm across his companion’s shoulders and allowing the drow to rest against him. Drizzt made a choked noise when Artemis’s hand absently rubbed his shoulder, and a warm weight settled against the top of his head.

They sat like that for some time. Drizzt battling waves of sadness and despair that threatened to tear him apart and Artemis physically holding him together. A rock in the whitewater. Drizzt ground his teeth, closing his eyes and leaning heavily against the man. He smelled of dirt and sweat and something more, something sweet and warm. Drizzt felt himself back in the Calimshan for just a moment, chasing a shadow that had stolen a dear friend. A shadow that now held him in the light of the fire in the middle of a storm.

How far they had come.

“Staying here is not going to bring her back to you,” Artemis said quietly when he felt Drizzt settle against his side, “It’s not going to solve anything for anyone, least of all you.”

“This is my homeland,” Drizzt argued, “Why not stay?” He pushed away to look at the man fully. “Is a man not entitled to stay in the place he calls home? Even for a time?”

The man sighed, running a hand through his dark hair, “Not men like us it would seem. Even if we manage to return to our homes and have the opportunity to stay in them forever, we will find ourselves endlessly dragged away by some greater purpose. Or some greater-willed pain in the ass.”

“You stayed for Dahlia not for me,” Drizzt turned away, “You could have left us in Memnon once you had your dagger and been done with all this, but _she_ did not want to leave Effron, and you stayed for _her_ sake.”

Artemis laughed, the sound seeming so alien when coming from the ever-dour man, “Is that what you truly believe? Oh, were I a religious man, I would found a temple to the stubborn, foolish obliviousness that is Drizzt Do’Urden!”

The ranger did not find the jab amusing and leveled a scowl at his companion, “Oh? Then why did you stay? If I am so wrong and oblivious, please. _Enlighten me_. Tell me what is true of Artemis Entreri’s intentions.”

The assassin’s mirth died a bit. “You sound angry,” he shot back, “Why?”

Drizzt wanted to throttle the man then. Had he saved him from a peaceful death in the snow just to enrage him? “ _Entreri._ ”

The deathly seriousness of the dark elf’s tone had the man changing tactics, “Fine.” He took a deep breath, “The city I call my home is the same only in name and location. My guilds, every person, faction, or business I have worked for or gave a damn about are all but ruins now. Artemis Entreri has been dead there for a long time. A very long time.” He seemed to deflate, “He is but a myth whispered in the shadows there.

“But here,” he continued, “at your side, I am what I used to be, if not better. You ask me why I stay; I stay because I am myself again when I am with you. I am not a myth. Not a memory. Not Barrabus the Grey. I am Artemis Entreri and I am an equal among you. And I know in my heart of hearts that I will find that nowhere else but in your company.” He smiled to himself, amused by his own honesty, “I did not stay for Dahlia. I stayed for myself. And for you.”

“ _Me_?” Drizzt didn’t mean to laugh the word, but could not help himself.

“It would appear that I have a similar effect on you that you do on me,” he explained. “I watched how you’ve changed from the man I came upon in Neverwinter, a man without purpose or direction. Now he runs off to do good deeds pulling a merry band of disheveled misfits behind him. Like the good old days.” He rolled his eyes and scoffed, but his smile was genuine and warm.

Not knowing what to say, the ranger replaced himself against the man’s side and Artemis draped an arm over his burdened shoulders. He had noticed a change in himself as well once the human had joined the company. A better grasp on what he had been; whether it was travelling into the ancient ruins of Gauntlgrym to liberate the man of his slavery or battling to give what were now the people of Port Llast their home, he had changed for the better. He was not the same battered and broken old soul that had been dragged behind Bruenor Battlehammer for their final hurrah or the lonely and desperate elf that had sought the company of Dahlia to fill the void. Artemis Entreri had brought back that part of himself Drizzt thought had died with his friends. His heroism.

“You were just lucky that Claw didn’t kill me,” the assassin laughed against strands of snowy white hair, “Or you might be teamed up with your kin. Or dead.”

Drizzt shared in his companion’s laughter this time. His despair slowly ebbing away. When his eyes opened, a slight start escaped the disciplined drow at how close the human was. Wheels in his mind began turning as he scanned the human’s smug smirk, quirked brow, and…extraordinarily handsome features. Wait-

Where did _that_ come from?

Drizzt shook his head trying to dislodge the thought, but it had already nailed itself down. Though he tried valiantly, he couldn’t slow down the building rate of his heart, or weigh down his lightening head, or cool the warmth that was rushing to his face and ear tips.

“Something wrong?” he was still so close, and his voice was low. Drizzt’s mouth went dry and he was almost certain his face was warm enough for the other man to feel, even if his skin was too dark and the light too dim for the flush to be clearly visible. “Drizzt?”

“I… Yes.” There was pounding in his forehead and he brought his hand up to rub the pain away, and felt a sharp jolt.

“Be careful,” Artemis scolded, grasping Do’Urden’s wrist and checking the bandage around his hand, “The bleeding has stopped for now, but if you pick at it it’ll start up again.”

He was even closer now, the cold of his bare hand sapping the warmth from Drizzt’s skin in a way that was almost unnatural. Concern, annoyance, and that cold, dark detachment that so defined the man flashed in alternating bursts in his grey eyes. He was worried, but his nature wouldn’t let him fuss as his heart wanted to. Drizzt was pretty sure he mumbled an apology when his gaze dropped to the space between them, but couldn’t be certain over the thudding rush of blood in his ears.

He had a head injury, he told himself, and his head still wasn’t on straight in an emotional sense. It was nothing. He closed his eyes and took a few steadying breaths. When he finally had his sense and opened his eyes, the human was even closer; to the point where they were almost touching, his eyes focused on the bandage around Drizzt’s forehead, contemplation written on his face. It didn’t take much effort for the drow to close the gap between them.

He could always blame the wound when Artemis pushed him away.

Except, to his surprise, Artemis did not push him away. In fact, the human used the arm around his shoulders to hold him close after a few seconds, and released his wrist after a few more; preferring to move that startlingly cold hand to the elf’s side further cementing him in place.

They did not fight for control; Drizzt gave it over gladly, when the kiss had dragged on for more than a few seconds. The mouth against his moved slowly, coaxing him into relaxation; with some hesitation, he complied, tilting his head and leaning into the man. He felt lighter than air for those moments; a dark hand tangling in the dark fabric of the human’s shirt and holding on tightly for fear he’d float away.

It was cooler than he’d expected, slow; not the same hot, hungry, lurid affair he had grown used to with Dahlia. They had a surprising familiarity with each other as though they had been lovers for years. They broke apart in short, frequent bursts to breathe and shift the awkwardness out of their positions. When they broke away entirely their breathing had barely changed, and Drizzt was nearly in the assassin’s lap, hindered by his splinted leg. His brain was too fogged for words, but he felt an awkward silence creeping in to take the intimate moment away.

Not knowing what else to do but not wanting to lose the moment, the ranger pulled him back in. He felt the scrape of the man’s stubble against his skin, the warm puff of breath against his cheek, and the soft rumble of mocking laughter as he fought for a deeper kiss. Artemis was more reluctant to comply to the gentle persuasion than Drizzt had been. The drow tried to get closer, tangling a hand in Artemis’s dark hair, fabric threatening to tear in the other, nipping at the man’s lower lip to force compliance.

A lightning bolt of agony shot up his leg as it strained against its splint and bandages a second time. The bright, coppery taste of blood coated the tip of his tongue as the men separated roughly, each with a yelp of pain.

“Ow,” Artemis touched his fingers to the new split in his lip. He rolled his eyes when he saw the ranger tending to his broken leg. “I told you to be careful,” he scolded, “I told you, but do you listen? No, of course not.”

Drizzt shot the man a scathing look and received laughter in return.

After some more mocking laughter and a few mumbled apologies, they settled back against each other; with some assistance and a half a dozen jolts of pain, Drizzt shifted to a more comfortable position, reclining with his head on the assassin’s chest, staring at the ceiling of the cave. He felt the wound on his head begin to throb painfully again, sending white dots dancing across his vision. Head lolling, he groaned.

“You should rest,” Artemis told him, voice low. He started to rise and gently lower the injured elf to a more comfortable position, when a dark hand caught him by the arm.

“No,” the elf sighed, trying to ignore the extra throbs that came with every syllable, “I don’t want you to leave.”

“I won’t go fa-“

“Please.”

Artemis settled back down, running a hand through silky white strands and heaving a heavy sigh, “Then I won’t.” He looked out the mouth of the cave, and the swirling grey, blue, and black, darkened by the cover of night, and the flurry of silver snowflakes, “It’s not like I have anywhere else to go.”

They drifted off to sleep by the light of the dying fire.


	2. Drink with Me

“He did what?” Dahlia was the first to respond to the news, and of course she responded in anger, shouting above the din of the crowded common room at the dwarf. “And you did nothing to stop him?” she glared at Effron briefly, but found she couldn’t hold it and returned her gaze back to Ambergris.

“It was his decision to make,” the dwarf argued. “He wanted to go alone. We let him.”

Dahlia made an angry noise and it didn’t take long for everyone else at the table to understand why Artemis had gone alone. No one breached the topic, however.

“If he isn’t back within a few days of the storm ending, ranger or no, we will look for him,” Afafrenfere offered, trying to pacify the elf.

“And if we can’t find him either?” she growled, looking up at the ceiling.

Ambergris, having no more of the elf’s temper, responded, “Then he deserted us and we pack up our things and move on, short two people instead of one. Is that so difficult to understand?” She did not buckle under the hateful glare Dahlia shot her; instead she threw her head back and laughed, “Don’t make that face at me, girlie, it dun work.”

Dahlia growled and stormed away.

The two men who had been standing between them breathed a collective sigh of relief. Effron even muttered a soft, “Thank you” to the priest under his breath. There would have been no way he could have delivered the news without crumbling.

“That girl needs to be gettin’ a handle on herself,” Ambergris sighed, “Or she’s gonna have no one and nothing.” She shot a poignant look to Effron, who only mimicked the dwarf’s sigh and exhausted expression. He hoped Artemis and Drizzt returned. And soon.

Afafrenfere put a hand on his shoulder and offered a comforting smile, but Effron didn’t feel comforted.

What if they didn’t come back?

-0-0-0-0-0-

Artemis woke first, bumping his leg against a new stack of firewood in the darkness. No ghost this time. The barely glowing embers offered some assistance in lighting the fire, but not much, and once it was going he checked his companion’s injuries.

Well, at least they weren’t dead yet.

He dug through his pack, pulling out several supplies; water, food, fresh bandages for the ranger’s head wound, and of course…

“You brought liquor?” his companion’s voice called from the floor. “Why? It will not keep you warm.”

“No,” the assassin agreed, making his way back to his spot on the cave floor, “but it will keep me sane.” He laid out several of his supplies between them once he’d sat back down. “I have learned in all my years that should I be forced to spend any length of time in the close company of a dark elf- _any_ dark elf, I will require alcohol to survive.”

Drizzt rolled his eyes and settled into a scowl as the human set the bottle between them amidst the rations. It was a small bottle of thick, clear glass with a stopper of steel and cork. The liquid inside seemed harmless enough; clear bright yellow at the top mixing in the middle with a foggy, deep amber that had settled at the bottom. It continued to swirl and dance though the container had been left untouched as the two men ate and assessed the ranger’s recovery, and the status of the cave.

A thought tugged at the back of Drizzt’s mind as he watched the man across from absently bite the scab on his lower lip in contemplation; before Drizzt had hurt himself, and subsequently bitten the unsuspecting man, Artemis had resisted him and the drow couldn’t help but wonder why. Was it because he simply wasn’t interested? Or had he chalked the whole affair up to something else? What had those cold eyes seen the night before, and how did it compare to Drizzt’s view of events?

 

Artemis apparently noticed his companion’s stare, “Do you need something?” he asked, waving a hand to get the other’s attention.

“I… um” Drizzt stammered for a moment, trying to collect himself and failing. “No,” he finally said, buying a few moments.

The man shrugged and popped the clasp on the liquor. He took a swig straight from the bottle, cringed, and coughed a few times into the back of his hand. “Damn,” he said between coughs, “The real stuff is stronger than that swill the halflings make.” He smiled and took another sip, coughing through his nose. “Better tasting too.”

He offered the bottle to Drizzt, who eyed it skeptically, “What is it exactly?”

“Gnommish blend called Gold Fire.”

The elf took the bottle, but kept eyeing it. He’d heard of Gold Fire, but was never one to partake in anything stronger than ale or wine. He lifted the heavy bottle to his nose, it was sweet smelling and laced with spices and the sharp bite of strong alcohol. With a look to his companion, he shrugged and brought it to his lips.

It was sweet at first; not quite like honey, but close. Then the sweetness passed into spice, an odd mixture, bitter and heady, that seemed to melt together and distinctly stand apart at the same time, like the song of a talented group of bards; subtle and enjoyable as a whole and individually. Then the burn came, harsh as smoking hellfire. His throat closed instinctively against the offending substance, but it was too late. The fire continued down to his chest and stopped just below his heart. A few seconds and a short coughing fit later and he was left with little more than a warm tingling across his mouth and most of his insides, and a strangely smoky taste in his mouth.

The assassin laughed at the poor elf’s struggle to regain himself, “It doesn’t hurt as much the second time,” he said with a smile too friendly to be sincere or anything less than frightening, “I swear.”

Drizzt took another sip.

Artemis was right. The sweetness and spice remained, but the burn wasn’t nearly as hellish and the tingling lingered a bit longer the second time, accompanied by a warmth setting around his ribcage.

They passed the bottle back and forth in silence for a while, savoring the alcohol, the company, and the ever-present rumble of the snowstorm. They started laughing when the bottle was half empty, neither was sure why and they decided to slow down on the consumption just a little.

“I’m surprised you thought to bring firewood,” Drizzt said when they set the bottle down. His head was swimming, but didn’t hurt anymore.

Artemis didn’t have the heart to tell him that he hadn’t brought firewood, just a few extra furs and a handful of prayers that shelter would be nearby or that he could outrun the storm. He also didn’t have the heart to tell him how it had gotten there for fear of exacting some form of disparaging wrath from the drow, so, “I knew we’d be stuck out here in the storm, so I came prepared.”

He knew it would come back to bite him in the ass, but he was too drunk to care at the moment.

Drizzt made a thoughtful noise, watching him closely, swaying slightly in his spot. His eyes focused again on the sliver of dark red at the corner of the assassin’s mouth. Before he could stop himself he found the words, “Does it hurt?” coming out of his mouth.

“Does what hurt?” Artemis sighed, lying down on the ground beside the ranger’s broken leg, careful not to jar it off the little pillow they had made out of their cloaks.

Might as well commit. “That spot… on your lip. Where I bit you yesterday.” Drizzt felt a lump form in his throat.

“Not really,” Artemis said, touching the scab gingerly. He obviously didn’t have the same reservations about the event that Drizzt did.

“About… yesterday,” Drizzt started, but found words failing him in his inebriated state, so he just wound up gesturing plaintively at the recumbent man.

The assassin just laughed at him for a while. “What about it?” Drizzt just kept gesturing, still not finding words; Artemis laughed all the while. “Alright, son,” he snickered, “You are cut off.”

The elf buried his face in his hands. “I wanted to know where we… stand. On the matter…”

“I was not aware that we needed a standing,” he replied, “You’re not exactly in the best of places on any front, so I can’t fairly hold anything against you.”

He was right. Drizzt felt the lump in his throat grow to almost choking proportions. He wasn’t in the right frame of mind to be conscious, much less make decisions regarding relationships. Or anything for that matter. But he longed for closeness and company. For an anchor to keep him grounded while his world fell apart all over again.

He had been so close.

It was almost all over for him at the top of Bruenor’s Climb, this whole lonely nightmare of a life that he aimlessly wandered through. He’d almost had everything he wanted. Freedom from responsibility, the company of his dearest friends, the love of his life. It was in his hands.

And Artemis Entreri had taken that from him.

He scowled at the man lying beside him, angry fire bubbling up in his chest, blocked by the lump in his throat. He wanted to beat the man until his knuckles were bloody and broken and the man lay dead at his feet. He wanted to shout every obscenity that graced his extensive vocabulary at the top of his voice; even the flamboyantly indelicate drow curses until the snow at the top of Kelvin’s Carin came crashing down around them. He wanted to tear out fistfuls of his own hair, claw deep rents into the stone and drive a blade deep into his own heart, since apparently if he could not die quickly he could not die at all.

But he did none of these things, only sat there, scowling.

“Drizzt?” Artemis’s voice was soft as he propped himself up on his elbows.

His jaw clenched painfully as he watched Artemis sit up fully and move to check his injuries. Drizzt caught Artemis by the wrist when the human reached for him, “You should not have come for me,” he growled.

The human softened. “I was not going to leave you to die.”

“You should have.”

Artemis smirked, expression dark “Hurts doesn’t it? To have nothing to live for and the one person with the power to let you die won’t do it?” He laughed a rich, low laugh, and it sent a chill down Drizzt’s spine, “Does it hurt to fall? Do you not want to get back up? You want to surrender. To let go. To be done with it all? What then?” Drizzt pulled away, but Artemis caught him by the arms, “What of all the people who died for you? For the man they thought you were? For their hero? What happens to him?”

“I don’t owe anyone anything!” He shouted at the assassin. “I have spent all my life, doing what I thought was right. What I thought was good, and valiant, and what have I gotten in return?” He struggled against the human, “Nothing! My god has taken the woman I love from me, and now all I am stuck with is you!”

He didn’t mean to sound so hateful. Or maybe he did.

“And what of all the people that look to you for strength? What of the mothers who tell their children the tale of Drizzt Do’Urden? How does the tale of a man that looked blatant racism and fierce judgment in the face and laughed at it, of the man who saved people who would not give him the time of day simply because it was the right thing to do, of the man that defied his heritage and the stigma that came with the color of his skin and found the love and respect of all those around him. How does that man’s tale end?” Drizzt felt the argument drain from him under the weight of Entreri’s words, “Does it end alone, bleeding in the snow betrayed by a woman who did not know his value? Or does it end heroically, in the face of unbelievable odds fighting for everything he believed in, and everything his friends and loved ones had already sacrificed their own lives for?”

The elf collapsed heavily against the human, all strength and fire drained from him. He whimpered, but managed to not sob into the assassin’s shirt.

“I could not leave you to die in the snow,” the human sighed, wrapping his arms around the elf, “because it is not a fitting end to the first man to best me in single combat, a Companion of Mithril Hall, a hero, or a ranger.” Drizzt returned the embrace.

They sat tangled in each other and silent for some time. The position was borderline painful in its awkwardness, but neither cared enough to bother moving.

“The storm is letting up,” Artemis whispered, dislodging strands of snowy white hair with every hot puff of breath, “We can probably ride for town in the morning.”

Drizzt pulled away into a more comfortable position with an undignified sniffle. He looked over to the mouth of the cave, the flurry of white that had been with them for more than a day, had settled to a light sprinkling of white flakes. He sighed heavily, feeling the weight of his emotions leaving with the breath, at least for now. “I… I apologize,” he said, not wanting to raise his gaze to his companion.

“No,” Artemis had moved with him, reaching for the neglected bottle of liquor, “Don’t. It isn’t necessary.”

Drizzt watched him drink. He took the bottle when it was offered to him, but didn’t drink himself. Instead, he set the bottle down at his side, grabbed the assassin by the loosened collar of his shirt, pulled him close and kissed him.

It was the same cool, familiar display of affection it had been the night before, but slower. Lingering and intimate. By the time the ranger’s senses returned, he was lying flat human hovering over him. His dark hands tangled in equally dark hair, holding him in place at first, and then pulling him into a hug.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” the human laughed against his skin, “eventually you won’t have an injury to blame.” He returned the embrace though, without hesitation or complaint.

“I used to live here,” Drizzt said suddenly after several long moments with only their heartbeats to listen to. “In this cave. Before everything.”

The other man hummed something softly into the crook of his neck.

“Artemis?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t blame the head injury,” Drizzt said to the ceiling, “I didn’t last time, and I don’t now.”

“Okay,” Artemis replied, before pulling the ranger in this time. A long, deep kiss that lulled the emotionally drained elf right into unconsciousness.

-0-0-0-0-

He woke slowly to the light of day shining in his eyes. The storm had cleared. They would be able to leave the cave and ride off toward town now, toward a healer and proper beds and care. He raised a hand to block the glare and scanned the small cave for Artemis.

The human was throwing on his armor and packing up supplies without any sort of hurry or urgency. When Drizzt asked him about his casual pace he shrugged and replied that between the way the citizens of Bryn Shander felt about him and his injuries they would have to wait til nightfall and sneak into the city anyway. Drizzt suggested that they just go to the dwarves for healing and rest then head to town.

“No,” Artemis said, tossing what little of Drizzt had into the pack with the rest of the supplies, “If we aren’t back by tomorrow at dawn the group will most likely leave without us. We ride today, get in tonight, and work out the rest once you’re in an inn room getting a dose of holy wonder from the dwarf.”

“Are you sure they’ll leave? What about Dahlia?” Drizzt asked, propping himself up.

“The group will,” he replied, “you are the only one that harbors any love for this place. They are a pragmatic bunch and will want to leave when the storm has cleared, but still care enough to give us a day to get back.” He thought for a moment, and then added with a sigh, “I’ll deal with Dahlia.”

“You don’t have to do that, Artemis.”

“I know, but… I have an idea,” he set down the pack and sat on the floor beside it, “I can handle her.”

“I had thought the same.”

Entreri nodded, “Yes, but there is one clear difference between you and I.”

“What is that?”

The grin that broke out on the human’s face was more disquieting than any words he could have possibly said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how long this will end up being, but it is going to be an adventure!  
> I swear.  
> Yeah.  
> Enjoy.


	3. A Woman Scorned

Afafrenfere sat down beside Effron at a back table in the inn. The shadowy corner had become the warlock’s perch since Artemis Entreri’s departure three days prior. He kept an eye on the door at all times and seemed to be avoiding nearly everyone.

“You know,” the monk said, pouring a cup of water from the pitcher at the center of the table, “given Do’Urden’s new reputation I don’t think they’re going to come in the front door.”

Effron nodded, “I know. And they probably won’t come until nightfall either since they’ll have to figure out a way through the gates unseen.”

“Then why are you-“

Effron sighed and rested his head on his one folded arm on the table. “I don’t know.” He hadn’t really known what to do with himself since they got back to town, and had just stood out of the way not doing much of anything because of it. He’d tried to talk to Dahlia a couple of times about what had happened on the mountain- about anything at all, really--, but she was having none of his company, snapping at him to leave her or ignoring him altogether.

The human leaned forward against the table, “Come,” he said. “Let’s go for a walk, some fresh air might do you good.” He smiled brightly in the face of Effron’s glare, “Anyone gives you trouble, they’ll answer to me.” The monk made a big show of cracking his joints menacingly but wound up just looking silly when his joints didn’t actually crack, coaxing a smile from his companion. “That’s the spirit.” He rose, “Just let me go find short and grumpy, and tell her we haven’t run off into the tundra like everyone else,” and trotted off up the hallway.

He saw the dwarf coming out of her room, rumpled from a long night’s sleep, growling at the world as she always did when she rose mid-morning. Gods help everyone should she wake before noon. He raised a hand to get her attention, but she whirled around when someone else had gotten it first.

Dahlia.

Strange. They hadn’t been on speaking terms since Ambergris informed the group of Artemis’s trip supposedly back to the mountain. Afafrenfere ducked behind the corner he had just rounded and listened in. He could chastise himself for his nosiness later.

“What do ye want, elf?” the dwarf roared at the unsuspecting woman. Afafrenfere stifled a laugh and tried to picture Dahlia’s face with the priest suddenly shouting.

“A moment of your time,” she said, taking it in stride.

Ambergris rolled her eyes, “Alright, ye’ve got _one moment_ , and I’m goin.”

“When are we leaving?” the elf asked, “The storm is clear now and has been all morning. When are we going to look for him?”

“Look for _them_ , ye mean” Ambergris corrected and then scoffed in the face of Dahlia’s angered expression, “Oh, right, ye dun want to go lookin’ for both of ‘em. Just the one that still fancies ye. Not like a ranger’s a good man or useful or anything.” She laughed; a mocking bark that would have offended anyone.

“Leave the ranger to court his ghost, but we need to find Artemis.”

“Why?” the dwarf shot back, “What if he just up and left us? It all could have been a lie, and ye know, I wouldn’t put it past a sort like him. Ye’d have all of us go out in the snow _again_ for what could be some wild goose chase.” She and Dahlia stared at each other for a long time after that.

“You don’t know that”

“An’ neither do ye,” Ambergris shot back, “We’ll wait here ‘til tomorrow at midday, and if they aren’t back, we’re with the next caravan out of here.”

“So we’d just leave him behind.”

The dwarf stamped her foot in frustration. “Leave _them_ behind,” she corrected again, “and yes. Yes we would. Just because ye’re up in a tizzy over this guy doesn’t mean the rest of us care. He left us, hopefully to do what he said he would and find Drizzt, but if not, so be it. We are no more responsible for him than anyone else. So get off yer high horse, missy. We aren’t staying for someone who left without telling us and of his own volition.”

“He told you and Effron,” Dahlia countered, losing her footing in the argument.

“No,” she confessed, “He only told Effron ‘cause the boy caught him leaving. He hadn’t intended to tell anyone at all, and he didn’t have very much in the way of supplies from I what saw.” She sighed, “He left us. He left ye. Get over it.”

Ambergris moved to continue down the hall, but Dahlia stepped in her way. “Artemis did not leave me,” she said, resisting the urge to raise her hand to the black diamond stud, freshly moved to a new ear, “I won’t believe it.”

The dwarf threw up her arms, “Then ye stay. But don’t come cryin’ to me when he beats ye to a pulp for trying to kill him just like you did to Drizzt.”

“You don’t know what happened-“ Dahlia tried to argue but Ambergris wasn’t taking it anymore.

“No,” she said sternly, rising to the balls of her feet just so she could get her bearded face closer to the elf, “I don’t, but I’ll tell you one thing, _little miss._ ” She spat the last two words, “If I have to hear of the fall of one more decent person because of ye, we will no longer be allies.”

Dahlia’s already deep scowl, deepened further, obscuring her tattooed face in the shadows it cast, “Is that a threat?”

“Ye spend yer whole life bein’ the prettiest girl in the room and when someone finally tells ye, ye’re not, what do ye do? Ye try to kill ‘im.. So yeah,” Ambergris grabbed the elf by the black and red braid, and pulled her down to eye level when she dropped back down on her heels, “It is a threat.”

With that, she released the elf and walked away, passing Afafrenfere on her way to the common room, “Ye saw that?” she said over her shoulder to the monk. She didn’t wait for a response, “Good. Let it be known that Amber Gristle O’Maul will tolerate no more in-fighting. Ye guys want a healer in yer party, ye better shape up.”

Afafrenfere nodded and fell into step behind her, leaving Dahlia alone in the hallway to seethe.

-0-0-0-0-0-

They were riding by late afternoon; opting to take Andahar instead of Entreri’s nightmare for a smoother ride and more space between them on the larger animal. Drizzt may have lost his scimitars and pack on the mountain, but had managed to keep his other gear on his person.

 “Icingdeath is long gone,” he said, staring off into the distance, sensitive eyes squinting against the glitter of fresh snow in the sunshine. His hand went to the spot on his hip where the blade once rested, only to touch empty air, not even the empty scabbard scraped his fingertips. All of his equipment, except his pendant, cloak, and clothing, had gone into Entreri’s pack, stashed under a pair of furs.

Artemis muttered an apology over his shoulder for not finding the weapon. He knew that every one of the few pieces of equipment the elf carried had some story behind it, a fond memory in tangible form. Drizzt clapped him on the shoulder and smiled at him, but there was sadness there, “You tried, and I cannot fault you for that,” he gently shook the shoulder under his hand, “Were it not for you, both of my swords would be lost in the snow. And I would be dead.” He immediately regretted the statement, remembering the exchange he’d had with the assassin the night before.

But Entreri returned his smile.

They rode slowly, hoping to burn out daylight and not jar the injured elf too much in the process. Drizzt’s minor injuries became more obvious in the bright light of day, where swollen knots cast shadows and ebony skin found a way to darken in patches. They discovered that two of the drow’s fingers were broken when they first attempted to lift the poor man upright. Artemis had been forced to improvise with the bandaging and splint, taking pieces from the wood that kept the ranger’s leg straight. Walking had proven immensely difficult for the elf between dizzy spells from the head wound and pain in his lower leg, but he managed to get on his unicorn, and that was a good sign.

Growing bored on the slow ride, and encouraged by the other man’s good humor, Drizzt told his companion of the epic battle with the great white dragon Icingdeath, that had led to him acquiring the sword of the same name. His smile was wide and bright as he remembered how foolish and prideful Wulfgar had been as a boy, and how much trouble he’d caused Bruenor. He spoke in great, sweeping gestures as he recalled the falling stalagmite that killed the beast, and the treasure horde they were able to raid. Talking helped him forget the overwhelming despair that seemed to frame his every thought, and it didn’t hurt matters that his human companion enjoyed the story, returning the smiles and sharing in the elf’s fond laughter. Drizzt recounted the numerous times the weapon had proved useful, not just to him but to others. Bruenor’s fall with Shimmergloom in Mithril Hall, the ranger’s own battles with Errtu—

Drizzt found himself stopping short at the mention of the balor.

“How are we supposed to get into the city?” He asked, “The people think I unleashed a demon upon them. The will not let me in.”

“You’ll just have to trust me,” the assassin replied, “and I do not intend for us to stay long.”

He rolled his eyes at the prospect of blindly trusting the shady man, “Long enough for me to be healed and the group to gather our things,” Drizzt reasoned, “then we go where?”

Artemis shrugged, “We can pick out a destination on the road, since there is only one way out of Icewind Dale anyway.”

They laughed and agreed on the idea.

The sun was setting as the lights and shadowy silhouettes of Bryn Shander appeared in the distance. All high walls, guard patrols, and angry civilians in the eyes of the elf. A part of him felt guilty seeking refuge there after the things that had happened and the destruction he had inadvertently caused. He started to tell the Artemis that perhaps he should go in alone and gather the others and meet him outside the city where they could set up a camp or something, but he was brushed off before he’d said more than two words.

“You need a bed, a warm fire, proper rest, and proper meal,” he said, “and don’t give me any of that ‘I don’t need to be coddled’ song and dance either. We’re going. That’s final.”

For a brief moment, Drizzt pictured Artemis as a father, using that same stern voice on a pair of grey-eyed, dark haired children. He imagined them arguing with their father and the man just accepting it with the same haggard, yet determined expression that had been on his face in some form or another since Drizzt woke up in the cave with him. He heard him scold them in a firm voice and send them off to play or whatever it was the Entreri children would do. He smiled to himself at the thought and realized that he was delirious when he wondered what their names would be.

“I think I’m feverish,” he said into the assassin’s shoulder, which he had started leaning heavily against at some point and didn’t realize it until his own muffled voice drifted to his ears.

“Just a little while longer and you’ll be right as rain,” Artemis said back, but Drizzt heard the worry in his voice.

Or thought he did.

They came up to a snow drift not far from the wall and dismounted. Or, Entreri dismounted, Drizzt found his equilibrium failing him in addition to the immobility of his leg, and fell heavily against the assassin sending them both tumbling sidelong into the snow.

“This is going to be much easier than I initially anticipated,” the human cackled, still lying in the snow.

“How do you figure?” Drizzt asked as he was lifted back to his unsteady feet.

“Just keep your hood up and let me do the talking,” Artemis retrieved his gear, tossing one of the extra furs around the drow’s shoulders and the other around his own.

He half dragged, half carried the injured ranger right up to the gate, even when the other protested that he could at least limp on his own. “It’s more believable this way, trust me,” the man whispered, checking cowls and bandages before trudging into the light of the guarded wall.

“Help!” he shouted, much to the surprise of his companion. His voice was different, higher, laced with a heavy accent, “Please, you must let us in! My friend is going to die,” Entreri sounded so fearful and desperate in his plea that Drizzt almost believed it and he was mostly in on the charade.

“Identify yourself,” a guard called down the top of the gate.

The next few moments were a hazy blur to Drizzt. He could hear Artemis calling up to the guards, voice becoming more frightened and pleading as the guards questioned him. He claimed to be a merchant from Vaasa, and his accent matched the claim surprisingly well. That they had been left behind by their caravan on the way out of Icewind Dale, and had to trudge back in the snow storm for days before finding the safety of a city once more.

“No caravans have left the city,” the guard said, obviously suspicious.

“We did not leave from here,” Entreri argued back without hesitation, “But it was closest to where we fell. Please, look at this man: he is going to die without aid.”

Drizzt felt darkness edging his vision and his weight leaning heavily against Entreri.

“Let them in.”

Artemis had to carry his companion through the gate and down the main road. He was just out of sight of the gate guards when he heard footsteps approaching from behind. He braced himself, ready to square off with more guards, to spin a tale or daze and escape. His eyes scanned for all possible escape routes.

Effron and Afafrenfere jogged around him and Artemis nearly fell over in relief. The monk went straight to the injured man, throwing him over his shoulder like and awkwardly shaped sack of grain. Effron bombarded Artemis with questions until shushed.

“Afafrenfere, take Do’Urden on a roundabout route back to the inn, be quick but don’t be seen. We’ll let you in the back door,” the monk nodded and set off down a deeply shadowed alleyway. Artemis turned his attention to Effron, “You’re with me. We need to clear a way up to Ambergris’s room without Dahlia or anyone else noticing us and then get the dwarf up there. I can get us in, but you’ll need to make a distraction and get the priest.”

Effron nodded and the two took off at a jog to the inn.

The kitchen door was easy enough to open. Much to the surprise of Effron and Entreri, the kitchen was empty, the time of night late enough that the cook had gone to bed.

“What were you two doing out there?” Artemis asked as they waited for Afafrenfere and his cargo. Effron watched the entrance from the kitchen to the inn; Artemis held the exit to the street.

“Brother Afafrenfere said I need some fresh air and we went for a walk around the city,” he explained, “We lost track of time and were on our way back when we heard the gate open.” He was going to say more, but the shadow of Afafrenfere had appeared in the doorway and he would have to file it away for later.

Getting the injured drow into the city was easy compared to trying to get him up the stairs to the rooms without being noticed. Luckily, Effron already had an idea. A few well timed cantrips trained on the more burly and intoxicated patrons, and a bar fight of warlike proportions broke out. Furniture flew alongside curses in several languages. Punches, kicks, bites were exchanged, weapons were drawn, and some of the lighter people suddenly became airborne. Ambergris and Dahlia’s voices joined the fray, both reveling in the absurdity and violence of the fight. It was the best cover any of them could have asked for.

The three men finally started to breathe normally once Drizzt was resting in Ambergris’s bed. His skin was ashen and his head wound had started bleeding again, but he was breathing and alive. He groaned in pain a few times and that only served to bolster the hope of his saviors.

“Thank you for the assistance,” the assassin said with a curt nod to each of them before sinking to the floor beside the bed.

They milled about the room talking quietly amongst themselves as they waited for the din of the fight to die down. Entreri told them how he found Drizzt on the ridge and that they waited out the snow storm in a cave; careful not to share too many details of the drow’s emotional state. When things were quiet below, Afafrenfere gave a nod and said he’d go get Ambergris and disappearing out the door before anyone had a mind to stop him.

“You should go too,” Entreri said, moving from the floor to the edge of the bed, “your standing with Dahlia is still tentative and the last thing she needs is more targets.” Effron tried to argue but was silenced by a raised hand, “Go rest, Effron, and pretend you didn’t know we were back should Dahlia confront you in the morning. It’s for the best, for you and her.”

It was, and they both knew it, but that didn’t stop Effron from hesitating at the door, “We still have to get him back out.”

“I will be open to ideas at daybreak,” Artemis replied. Effron left without any other arguments.

He took several deep breaths, bracing himself for what he knew what was to come. Why hadn’t he just left when he had the chance? In Memnon? Three days ago? He could have just ridden away, gone home, and been done with all this silly business. But no, still he stayed with a group that was probably worse than Jarlaxle had been before Baulder’s Gate in the grand scheme of things. He stayed, and was willing to place himself in front of the charging hound that was and emotionally compromised Dahlia Sina’felle.

Had he really envied Drizzt for this life?

Ambergris and Afafrenfere came in and Entreri stood to meet them.

“I’m gonna need some space for this,” she said, shaking her head in exasperation, “ye boys go outside. I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

Neither argued. Afafrenfere told Artemis he would set up a space for him to sleep in his room, before wandering down the hall and leaving the assassin alone with his thoughts once more. If only for a short time.

“Who splinted this leg? _A monkey?_ I’ve seen goblins do better!”

Entreri buried his face in his hands and stifled a laugh. Maybe this was what he’d so coveted. Even in a dark time someone still finding the right words to make something less terrible. Gentle chiding instead of hurtful insults, nothing judgmental, nothing angry. A sense of mutual respect.

A magical sense of family among misfits.

“Why did you go back for him?”

And just like that the magic was gone.

He looked up to see Dahlia standing at the corner of the hallway, arms crossed and making no move to approach. He shrugged and leaned against the wall as if to say “what does it matter?”

She watched him and mild annoyance quickly turned to anger, “Why did you go back for him?” she said again, “Why did you tell no one? Why didn’t you take us with you?”

“Would you have gone if I asked?” he retaliated. Tired, cold, and sore Artemis was not as in the mood to dance around the subjects as he would have liked to be, less tolerant of the elf’s attitude, “And if you did, would you have not attacked him again, perhaps even killed him this time?”

She made a flustered, angry noise, “I would have gone. We all would have.” She faltered under his stare briefly, “We would have helped you.” She closed the gap between them, her anger was bubbling into rage. “You had us all worried. You could have been killed.”

“Dahlia-“

“No,” she snapped, “You have no right to make everyone worry like that. No right to go off and save the day for someone who doesn’t even deserve it.”

Angry now: “Dahlia-“

“All he wants to do is chase some ghost. He doesn’t care about anything else. Not who he places in danger, where he ends up dragging us, so long as he can chase those stupid whispers about his precious Catti-brie. You should have left him there to die. At least then he would have had her and the rest of us could have moved on. Hells, it’s not like there’s anyone around that still cares anyway. A few weeks and the name of Drizzt Do’Urden would have been not but a memory. But you had to go and take it upon yourself to be the hero-“

“ _Calihye, enough._ ”

Dahlia stopped, stunned that he had not only called her by another woman’s name, but by the tone in which he’d done so. She stared at him; furious, but too slack-jawed to attack him verbally. She raised her hand to slap him, but he caught her wrist mid-swing and held her with a bruising grip.

“Enough,” he said again. His voice low and deadly serious. Her eyes widened and her face paled at the sound. “It is not your place to judge the decisions I make, unless they concern you directly. I grow tired of this behavior, Dahlia. You are a grown woman, act like it and stop being so selfish.”

“Selfish?” she snarled, too insulted to be frightened, “You think me selfish?”

“No. I think you are a child acting as children do,” he growled back.

Suddenly, her back was against the wall. The whole inn seemed to have quieted in the face of Entreri’s quiet, murderous rage. Her own anger would not relent to him, however, “How dare you,” she bit at the air like a leashed animal just out of reach of its prey with every word, “you bastard. I could _destroy_ you. I know your secrets. _Your weaknesses._ You cannot afford to treat me this way.”

In one swift motion, before she could even realize what he was doing, Entreri released the woman’s wrist, brought his hand up to her face, and ripped the black diamond stud from her ear. She doubled over with the force of the pull, and stayed that way, watching her blood drip to the dusty wood slats of the floor. “Do not threaten me, little girl,” he whispered into her uninjured ear, “you do not know what I am capable of, or what I am willing to do to protect myself. So you best get yourself together or leave.”

He pulled away from her then, returning to his original place beside Ambergris’s door. “You cannot do this to me,” she growled at his back, “I will not be treated this way.”

“You cannot always have what you _think_ you deserve,” he said, suddenly casual, “grow up.”

“I will _not_ be slighted. Not by him. And certainly not by you.”

He watched her storm away down the hall and out of sight; bloody earring digging into the calloused skin of his palm, his fists were so tightly clenched. Dahlia did not return for another confrontation for the rest of the night.

Ambergris opened the door and gently nudged him awake some time later. He didn’t even remember sitting down, much less falling asleep. “How’d she take it?”

He showed her the bloody stud still in his hand, “As well as could be expected.”

“She’s not right.”

“I know.”

Ambergris paused for a moment, weighing the options of the situation. “Ye wanna stay with him? The monk an’ I have shared a room before, I’m sure he won’t mind taking me in again.”

Artemis nodded and replaced Ambergris as a fixture in what was now Drizzt Do’Urden’s room.

“Dahlia’s gone isn’t she?” the drow’s voice said once Entreri shut the door. “We’ve both betrayed her. She has no real reason to stay other than Effron.”

Artemis only nodded. He crossed the room, removing superfluous articles of clothing and blowing out candles as he did so, until he was down to his shirt and breeches, and the room was dark but for the moonlight. He collapsed on his back in the small space of bed that the elf did not occupy with a heavy sigh. Drizzt slid over a bit with a wince to accommodate him. They lay that way for a while, separated by layers of blankets, staring at the ceiling in anxious and tired silence.

Drizzt found Artemis’s hand by his hip and laced their fingers together. Entreri squeezed his hand in reply and didn’t let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still trying to figure out how to work Ao3.  
> Please forgive weird formatting, I WILL be fixing it.


	4. The Sunrise

The room was still bathed in the deep blue of night when Drizzt finally drifted into something akin to wakefulness. His eyelids were still too heavy to be open for too long and drifted shut nearly as soon as they’d opened. The sounds of the bitter tundra night were drowned out by the creaks and sighs of the sleeping inn. Muffled conversations in hushed voices drifted up from the floorboards. The smell of dwarf still lingered on the blankets and seemed to overpower everything, even the scent of dust and wood and the man that lay in the bed beside him.

Artemis had slipped under the dense wool blanket with him sometime during the night. The elf found himself resting his cheek on the man’s shoulder, a crease in the fabric of his shirt leaving a temporary mark. Drizzt shifted a bit, finding the warm tingling of sleep in one of his arms and his recently healed leg; that was probably what had woken him in the first place.

The soft snoring of the man beside him faltered a moment. He stirred, only to settle back in his original position on his back, one arm tucked under the pillows, the other at his side. Careful of the feather-light sleep of the human, Drizzt settled into a comfortable spot between the man’s straightened arm and the solidness of his side, replacing his cheek in its spot on the warmed fabric of his shoulder. Artemis stirred at the attention, but was calm again almost immediately.

Whether it was to block out the dwarf-smell, that was steadily growing more and more overpowering the closer to full wakefulness he became, or out of real affection, he wasn’t certain, but Drizzt found himself sliding closer to the human, burying his face in the worn, soft fabric of his shirt. The assassin woke after a few moments, but made no move to push him away. Instead, he wrapped an arm around the ranger and craned his neck to face him, about to ask what he was doing. The question died in the soft, sleepy kiss the dark elf gave him. He didn’t fight it. Even going so far as to pull Drizzt in closer, feeling the bed shift in response and a gentle hand find a place against his stubble-covered cheek and holding him still.

It was a deep, slow thing; lazy, wet, and uncaring. Comfortingly warm from sleep, cut with the acrid bite of morning. Drizzt felt the sharp puff of a held breath against his cheek and knew he’d have to break away. He resisted until the human nipped threateningly at his lip, demanding to be allowed to breathe. He released him, soft whimper escaping into the space between them.

The assassin seemed to take that as an invitation, and, in a way, it was. In a couple quick, albeit rather clumsy, motions he pulled the elf closer to the center of the bed and pinned him there; a strong arm offering support on either side of the elf’s head, hands tangling in silky white hair slayed across the pillows. Drizzt could feel the smug smirk in his kiss.

He tugged at the hem of the assassin’s shirt, and slid his hands up the hot and scarred skin of his back. Drizzt got some compliance from his bedmate, the human pulling away long enough to discard the article completely before returning to kiss and nip at the exposed skin of the elf’s neck, eliciting a variety of quiet noises in the process.

Entreri bit down hard on a spot right under his ear, testing to see just how loud he could get the elf to be. He was bitten on the shoulder in return and muffled a husky laugh in the fresh bruise forming on the already dark skin. Not one to be denied, he ground his hips against the elf’s and got the exact reaction he was looking for.

Drizzt had been trying not to make much noise, but the man that pinned him to the bed was persuasive. He found himself panting, whimpering, even softly cursing into the skin of his muscled shoulder before his fogged brain could catch up enough to quiet him. Every deep kiss and slow grind spurred him to be a little louder, a little more desperate. He dug his nails into the human’s lower back and tried to gain some control of the situation.

The contented growl in his ear was not a good sign of him gaining control any time soon.

So he gave in. Pulling Artemis in closer and keeping him there, responding to every bite, every kiss, every thrust with one of his own until even that wasn’t enough. Without a thought or reservation, his dexterous hands loosened laces and leather until there was nothing but air between them, and soon not even that.

Things would have only escalated from there, had not a series of loud knocks jarred them back into reality. The bright orange light of the sun pouring in from a gap in the curtains and the noises of the morning meal suddenly filling the room in the absence of impassioned moans and whispers.

“Rise and shine, daisies!” Ambergris’s voice called through the door. Both men turned their fullest attention to the voice. They both expected the door to swing open, one with anxious dread, the other with calm amusement. “We’ll be bringing breakfast to ye, but ye better be awake when we get here.”

There was a pause then another sharp knock, “Oh, and assassin, get this damn trap off the door. Dahlia’s not comin’” With that, they heard the dwarf’s heavy boots stomp away.

Artemis disentangled himself and rolled out of bed to disarm his trap, pausing for a moment to straighten the laces of his breeches and run a hand through mussed hair. Drizzt hadn’t wanted to watch him do so, nor had he wanted to watch so enthusiastically. But, he did, and he burned the image of the man --hair damp and curling slightly about his temples and neck, eyes hooded and dark, face flush, stripped to the waist with pink welts growing bright and angry on his lower back; his tightly fit and well-made breeches clinging much lower on his hip than they were meant to and their laces left ever-so-barely slack- into the back of his mind.

The assassin turned his attention to the wire trap he’d set up on the door, explaining in a level, but rough voice how he’d gotten up after the drow had gone to sleep to arm it in case Dahlia came back while they were out because he’d been too tired to stay awake the whole night. Drizzt didn’t really pay him much mind, staring at the ceiling trying to clear his thoughts and collect himself.

What in the hells had just happened?

He rose, collecting the assassin’s shirt as he did so. Drizzt shook the event from his mind for now; keeping it tucked away in a warm place in his memory. He’d process it later when his life was a little more rebuilt. He offered Artemis his shirt when he was close enough to nudge him, “Here, you’ll want this.”

The assassin laughed, cutting the last wire and setting the trap parts aside. He took the dark fabric and tossed it over his head, tucking it in neatly and straightening out what wrinkles he could with a brush of his hands.

The ranger returned to the bedside to collect his own things and had just thrown on his spider silk tunic when the dwarf and Afafrenfere came in without knocking or ceremony, carrying trays of food and pitchers of water, Effron trailing quietly behind them.

“Good to see ye on yer feet,” the dwarf said, admiring her handy work, “Go easy on that leg though, the more time ye give it to heal, the stronger it’ll be.”

Drizzt nodded his understanding and the five companions gathered in a circle on the floor to eat.

“Where’s Dahlia?” the ranger asked after several moments of silent appreciation for the decent meal. The others looked to Ambergris.

“Gone,” she replied, waving off the stares with some muttered insults, “Inn keeper said she checked out in the middle of the night. Dunno where she went from there, and I don’t really care.”

“You should,” Artemis said, lying back on the floor with a sigh, “she may want to kill us all.”

“Then we keep our eyes open for an ambush, not go hunting for her,” the priest laughed, “And if we’re bein’ honest the only people she wants to kill right now is the two o’ ye.” She waved a sausage between Drizzt and Artemis for emphasis before popping it into her mouth.

Artemis just shrugged in response.

“So where do we go from here?” Effron pitched in, “Dahlia may be gone, but Drizzt is back and healthy, surely there is something for us to do.”

The group looked to the ranger this time but he couldn’t get his thoughts together fast enough to answer.

“He needs a new weapon,” Entreri offered, “nearest place outside of Icewind Dale that we can get a decent one’ll be Luskan, but they’re not too fond of us there. Or, they weren’t twenty years ago.”

Lavender eyes caught grey ones in a silent “Thank you.”

“Luskan’s a terrible place to buy weapons,” Ambergris snorted, “they’re all terrible quality metal, and shoddily crafted. Or, ye know, stolen.”

“Sometimes stolen goods are better than legitimate ones,” to everyone’s surprise Afafrenfere said this. He just shrugged when their stares fell upon him.

“Regardless,” the dwarf continued, eyes trained on the monk, “what a fighter like him needs is a dwarf-made weapon.” She puffed out her chest, “We could go to Adbar.”

“Aren’t you still considered a criminal in the Citadel?” Afafrenfere maintained eye-contact with the dwarf the whole time.

“Shut up.”

They glared at each other across the circle.

“What about an elvish made weapon?” Effron offered, only to get a “bah!” and a playful swipe from Ambergris.

“What about Mithril Hall?” Entreri said, “You will always be a friend there, so you might even get the weapon for free, if not a reduced price, which will help with our status regarding coin.”

The rest of the group nodded their heads at the mention of money. They were running out, quickly, and quality weapons, even ones that weren’t that magical tended to run on the expensive side. Not to mention the cost of food, inn rooms, and mounts for the monk, warlock, and priest.

Drizzt hesitated, “I don’t-“ a sigh of resignation. “Okay, let’s go and see what we can do.”

It was settled. They collected their things and set out on the road southward that afternoon. Spiriting Drizzt out of the city as the, now dead, merchant of Vaasa that had arrived the night before.

-0-0-0-0-0-

The ride south was slow at first, hindered by the recent snowfall. Despite their lack of speed, Dahlia never caught up with them, if she had ever intended to in the first place. Effron and Afafrenfere shared a horse since only one of them knew how to ride and Ambergris had been granted a pony for the journey, though she complained about preferring to just trudge through the snow instead. No one listened to her after about an hour.

“Are you alright?” Effron asked Drizzt when they stopped to set up camp on evening, “You seem distracted.”

The drow shook his head, “I don’t know Effron,” he said, “A lot has happened recently.”

Effron nodded and wrapped his good arm around his friend’s shoulders. One tended to forget that the boy was the tallest of the group until he was standing right beside them, but something about being hugged by someone taller than him resonated comfort in the elf. “We’re glad you’re okay,” the young warlock said when they pulled apart, “if you need anything…” he trailed off, but there was genuine sympathy in his mismatched eyes.

Drizzt nodded and gave the boy the warmest smile he could muster, “thank you, Effron.”

He stood there awkwardly for a moment, obviously wanting to say more, but opted to walk away.

The rest of the journey was relatively uneventful. The beginnings of the spring thaw brought clearer roads and cut down on travel time. They stopped for camp mostly to sleep and let the animals rest. Occasionally they would carry on a conversation of little consequence; Artemis told the story of the drow raid on Mithril Hall that he had been a part of, making sure to describe the dark elves’ defeat in as much detail as possible, to the immense joy of Ambergris. Drizzt shared a few stories as well, but with far less enthusiasm.

They were only a day from arriving when Artemis pulled him aside.

“Do you not want to do this?” he asked, “These dwarves are your friends, and this is the best option we have. Even if it means the rest of us have to camp out on the mountainside.”

Drizzt shook his head, “This was not my idea,” he growled, but his anger died as quickly as it spawned, “I haven’t been here in a long while.”

Artemis put a comforting hand on his shoulder, “They won’t show you the door—“

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

The human sighed heavily and pulled the ranger into a hug which was returned immediately, “I’m willing to bet they’ll be happy to see you. The ones that remember,” he said, “It has not been so long that all those dwarves would forget the only dark elf to walk their halls unchallenged.”

“I know.”

They separated to arms-length, but did not let go, “It will not be so bad; I assure you.”

“Thanks.”

-0-0-0-0-0-

Artemis was right. Drizzt was flooded with memories, just as he had feared, but they were good ones. Of all the time spent in those hallowed halls alongside his friends and their kin. The dwarves had been thrilled to see him and his new group of companions, excluding one familiar assassin. But, Artemis kept his head down and his voice quiet, so outside from a few scathing glares and whispered insults, not much trouble was to be had. Many comments popped up about the strange figure that was Effron. More than a few priests coming up to ask him about his shoulder, much to his dismay, but after some harsh words from Drizzt and Ambergris, he was mostly left alone as well.

For his service to the Hall, the dwarves were more than happy to make him a temporary replacement for his lost weapon, promising to have it done in a matter of days and that he could stay in his old room in the meantime.

Drizzt’s resolve faltered there, but he hid it well enough that no one said anything about it.

The group of five was spread out across the Halls: Drizzt in his old room, Ambergris in a room closer to the cleric’s dormitory, Effron and Afafrenfere sharing a room…

Entreri wasn’t given a room at all, and was told he could sleep on the floor of whomever would take him. It seemed that the dwarves still held a grudge, even if they didn’t act on it outside of minor discomforts, much to the amusement of all dwarves present to hear them. Effron and Afafrenfere took him in before Drizzt even thought to offer.

So, the drow ranger spent his first night back in the Hall, alone, in the bed he had once shared with his wife.

He tossed and turned for most of the evening, lying awake and quietly cursing to himself. Finally, he gave in and called Guenhwyvar to his side, if only for the company. She curled up beside him the moment she realized there was no danger, resting her head on his leg with a contented purr. It was the first time she had been summoned since Bruenor’s Climb, and she was very happy to see the ranger in one piece. He stayed up that night, talking to her, organizing his thoughts and feelings, and stroking her muscled flank until she felt the call of her Astral home.

There was a knock on his door before the mist cleared.

“It’s open,” he called.

The door opened and Effron’s horned head appeared, “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

“No.”

“Then,” he hesitated, “could you come with me? I… I want to show you something.”

Drizzt raised an eyebrow. There was very little in Mithril Hall that he had not already seen and even less that he was interested in seeing, “What?”

The boy shook his head, rogue strands of dark hair falling across his face, “Just come with me. Please.”

Not having anything better to do, he rose and followed the boy out of the room, down a series of corridors, and ultimately out of the Hall altogether. “Effron,” he said, slightly confused, his guard rising, “What are you doing?”

They stopped on a high ridge overlooking the nearby landscape. Drizzt recognized it as the same place that he had knocked Entreri from when the assassin had come with Jarlaxle and the other dark elves. The fall seemed so much longer now than it had back then. The stars in the sky were twinkling out on the horizon, and the rich blue of night turned to a subtle grey.

“Artemis told me about this place,” Effron said quickly, as though trying to get all the words out before something else garnered his attention, “I came and checked it out before bringing you.”

“Why-“ Drizzt stopped short.

The grey melted away to a rich orange and red, bright beams of yellow cutting through it and casting stark, black silhouettes across the landscape. The last of the stars, holding on valiantly to their visibility dissolved in the transition from cool colors to warm. What few clouds marked the sky became mist in the bright light and soon vanished following the stars.

His heart skipped a beat.

Sounds of the waking animals, rising with the sun, filled the cool air. The sparkling glitter of spring frost illuminated the spaces between the deep, slow moving shadows, like so many images caught in the light of a campfire.

That fire in the sky, sending the darkness of night running fast from its burn, warmed the two men on the ridge, slicing through wind and season to do so.

Effron waited until the sun had fully broken the horizon to speak again. “I remembered what you said,” he confessed, “about the sunrise and what it meant to you.” He smiled brightly, sharp teeth odd in the expression, “And since we all slept through the ones on the way here, and the snow storm on the mountain, I thought-“

“Thank you, Effron,” Drizzt said, still watching the shadows, glittering frost, and bright radiance of the sun with such rapture one might have thought him in prayer, “Really.” A smile broke out on his face, in spite of himself, as though a burden on his soul had been lifted with the sun.

Effron smiled all the wider.

-0-0-0-0-0-

A crow settled down beside him as he sat on the ridge the following morning. He called to it, clicking his tongue softly, urging it closer. It looked at him curiously, tilting its head from side to side, before flying away again.

“Perhaps next time,” the ranger laughed, watching the creature disappear along the mountainside.

“You seem to be in good spirits,” Entreri’s voice laughed behind him. “Effron said I’d find you out here.”

The assassin took a seat beside the elf. Neither said anything for a long while, simply enjoying the company of one another.

“How’s the floor been treating you?” Drizzt asked. He hadn’t spoken to the man since they’d all parted for bed two days before. The human had chosen to hide from whatever subtle wrath the dwarves would come up with for him in Effron in Afafrenfere’s room.

Artemis cracked his neck theatrically, “It has been treating me as well as stone can, I suppose.”

Drizzt made a thoughtful noise.

“Mithril Hall wasn’t such a bad idea after all,” the assassin chided with a good-natured, if rough, punch to the drow’s upper arm.

Drizzt returned the attack with an elbow to the man’s side, “No, I suppose not,” he agreed. “Thank you. Again.”

“If you thank me for every little thing I do, you will spend the rest of both our lives saying the phrase,” he laughed, “and I already grow bored with the repetition.”

“I am just surprised, is all.”

“Hmm?”

Drizzt dropped his gaze to his hands for a brief moment, taking a deep breath, “I had, honestly, expected some tough-love regimen, involving the cairns and some concrete statement that Catti-brie and the rest of my friends were gone,” he let the breath go alongside the words, “I thank you for not taking that route.”

“I had planned to,” the assassin confessed, “but Effron said he had a better idea, so I let him have his way. It seems that he was right.”

“So it seems,” Drizzt returned his gaze to the sunrise. “This,” he said, gesturing widely at the spectacle, “is what drew me here. Out of the Underdark. We were taught that the world topside is a vicious and cruel place. That there is no good or beauty to be found here, only worse misery and pain than we could ever know in the City of Spiders. But, once, when I went on my first raid, I caught my first glimpse of the sunrise. It stung my eyes to blindness and worried the priestesses, but I realized something. Everything I had been taught was wrong. That there was beauty to be had up here, and if that was the case maybe there would be other things as well. It gave me hope, you know?”

Artemis pretended to be jerked back to attention at the sudden question, but Drizzt knew better. “What?”

“Do you know what it feels like?” he asked, “To see something, and realize that everything you thought was wrong. To realize in a single moment that there is hope in a place you thought was hopeless?”

“Yes,” the human said without hesitation, “yes I do.” And he was sincere.

They sat in silence on the ridge until the others came to get them for breakfast.

-0-0-0-0-0-

The sword the dwarves crafted for Drizzt, while not magically endowed, was nothing short of lovely. The weight and balance matched his old blade perfectly, and it was as though he had not lost it at all, just that the enchantment faded away and its details had changed. The blade was adamantine, polished to a shine and engraved with dwarven runes on one side. On the other, an elaborate etching of a panther decorated the metal. Its pommel was simple sphere, etched with a maker’s mark and a filigree of leaves in Mithril, a pair of large amethysts marked the center of the hilt, one on either side, soft black leather covered the grip.

He tested the blade on its own a few times. Then paired it with Twinkle. It cut through the air with almost no resistance, and it was light enough that he could flip it in the air with barely a flick of his wrist. Against the dummy, it cut through leather armor like butter. Against Artemis, its blade rang like a birdsong.

“It’s perfect,” Drizzt said to its maker, once he’d put it through its paces.

“Yer welcome, me friend.”

He met up with his companions outside the Hall that afternoon.

“Where to now?” Ambergris asked as Afafrenfere helped her onto the back of her pony.

Drizzt looked to the group, pausing briefly on each face, “I’m not sure,” he said with a shrug. “It has been nearly twenty years since we’ve last been anywhere, who knows what adventure awaits us? Perhaps we should check up on the progress of Port Llast or that of Neverwinter,” the group nodded in agreement.

“Which first?” Ambergris asked.

“Why does it matter?” Artemis shot back.

“I just want to know how long I have to be on this creature,” as if to spite her, the pony nickered and pawed the dust with its hoof.

Artemis laughed, and urged his nightmare ahead. “Perhaps you would be better suited on a pig,” he chided over his shoulder when he was a good distance away, “given your taste in men, you should feel right at home.”

Ambergris spurred her pony after him in an angry charge, but the nightmare was much faster.

The remaining men laughed at their companions, “Port Llast it is then,” Afafrenfere said between laughs, falling in beside them.

“Port Llast it is.”

-0-0-0-0-0-

A crow set down on the back of Tiago Baenre’s chair and he had half a mind to wring the creature’s filthy little neck. He even reached for it, but it lifted into the air before he could catch it.

“I have some information,” the crow said, changing its form from bird to beautiful elf as it set down in a nearby chair, “that you may find interesting. And you won’t hear any of it if you harm me.”

Tiago relaxed in his chair, “Oh,” he laughed, “it’s you. Do’Urden’s little elf-bitch.”

He did not appreciate being snuck up on in his personal inn room, much less by a faerie, but he had to commend her for being able to accomplish the task. The dark elf rose and crossed the room to her, picking up a glass of wine from the table beside him as he did so. “Give me one good reason,” he said, swirling the wine in his glass, “why I shouldn’t cut you down right now. Or, better yet, restrain you and give my priestesses the satisfaction of sacrificing you to their goddess.”

“I have information,” Dahlia said, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs comfortably, “that is much more valuable than I will ever be to you.”

“You intend to betray your lover?” he laughed, “Now why, would someone like you, do such a thing?”

“The why does not concern you,” Dahlia said, tracking his progress as he circled her chair, “just that I intend to.”

“We have ways of making you talk.”

“This information has no price. I am willing to give it freely.”

Tiago stopped then, and set down his glass. “All information has a price,” he said, “Or the information is not what you think it is.”

“I can assure you,” Dahlia replied, looking him straight in the eye, “that my information is good. I can tell you where Drizzt Do’Urden and his four companions will be in a week’s time and they will be there.”

“What do you want in return?”

“As I have said, I want nothing.” She drummed her knee with her fingertips, “This time.”

“’This time?’” He raised an eyebrow.

“I will give you this information for free, but should you fail, the next round will come with a price.” She smiled warmly, “The price will grow steeper and steeper every time you fail.”

“I will not fail.”

“You failed last time. You had all of us in Gauntlgrym and you let us walk freely among you at a few well-chosen words from a natural-born liar.” He slapped her across the face for the comment, but she continued to smile. “How badly do you want to redeem yourself?” 

Tiago eyed the door to his room, as if expecting it to open.

“This offer is only good for now,” she said, uncrossing and recrossing her legs, “if you send me away, I will not return and I will take my goods to a more worthy interested party.”

Tiago pulled up his chair and sat across from her, folding his arms across its back and watching her closely all the while.

“I’m listening.”


	5. Spider Webs

He had to admit she had her charms: stripped to the waist and shackled to the wall beside a small cot with wrist irons, dim light and deep shadows playing off muscles thinly concealed by fair skin. She did not struggle, shout, or complain when he took her things or took her prisoner. But she still couldn’t be trusted. He watched her stare across the room and collected his thoughts.

“She is confident,” said Kimmuriel from his spot beside the door, just out of sight.

Tiago shut the door, “Her confidence is irrelevant. Is her information valid?”

“It appears that way.”

That disconcerted the Baenre all the more. “Why?” he mused, “Why would she come here and give up her lover? Did he wrong her? Was she just waiting for the opportunity?” he turned to his guest, “You were inside her head. Which is it: scorn or ambition?”

“Yes.”

Tiago wanted to beat his head against the wall.

“She seems more confident in your future failure than she is in her information,” Kimmuriel said, placating the young warrior, “But she was truthful when she said she did not warn him.” Tiago asked him what that was supposed to mean, and he just shrugged, “Perhaps it means that she knows more about the rogue’s fighting ability than you do.”

“I can best him,” Tiago responded, defiant look in his eye.

“I can name many other men, including your grandfather, that have uttered similar last words,” He turned on his heel to leave.

Tiago’s defiant stare fell a bit, “Where are you going?”

“Personal errand,” Kimmuriel replied, “It does not concern you.” He disappeared into the shadows.

The warrior stifled a growl and punched the wooden doorframe. He did not like being talked to like he was a child. How could they know he was going to fail? What did they know that he didn’t? What could they see? Then, something clicked. Well, if they thought he was going to fail, he might as well learn from his failings. He called for a meeting: Ravel Xorlarrin and a pair of his best scouts. They arranged themselves in short order and were waiting for him at a table in the common room.

Saribel was, surprisingly, among them.

“I have come into some information that Drizzt Do’Urden has returned to the Sword Coast,” he said, taking a seat, “I need someone to check the validity.”

He was bombarded with questions. Who was the source? Where was he? How long had he been back? What was the plan? You called us to the surface for this?

That last question came from the priestess, to which he smiled coyly and replied, “As I recall, you came up here of your own volition.”

“Someone has to make sure you don’t do something stupid.”

“I’m wounded,” he said, pantomiming a shot to the heart. He turned his attention to the two scouts seated beside him, “You two will go to Port Llast. Keep your heads down and try not to make too much trouble. However,” he stopped them as they rose to prepare, “should you see an opportunity to bring Do’Urden to me _alive_ , you will take it, understood?”

The soldiers nodded and were dismissed.

“Ravel,” Tiago said with a snap of his fingers, getting the bored spellspinner’s attention, “you will go with them.”

The Xorlarrin nearly came out of his chair in outrage, “What? No! My place is here with-“ He was grabbed by the collar and pulled closer to the warrior.

“You go where I say you go, or Matron Zeertith will hear some very unsavory things about her secondboy,” Tiago growled at him. He was not about to miss out on this opportunity. “You will go. You will remain unseen. You will observe. And you will not help the scouts under any circumstances. When _they_ are dead, _you_ come back and tell me what you’ve found.” The spellspinner’s eyes widened in understanding and Ravel nodded and ducked away, grumbling indignantly the whole while about Baenres and brutes.

Saribel laughed quietly into her hand at the spectacle. “So,” she said, once they were alone, “Who is this source?”

“It does not concern you as of yet,” he replied, coy smile returning to his handsome features. “If this goes as planned, then I will tell you everything.”

The priestess raised her eyebrows, scoffed quietly, rose from her seat, and left the inn. Part of him wanted to stop her, but after twenty years of mockery and spurned romantic advances he thought better of it.

For now.

Tiago went back upstairs to check on his prisoner. She was just as he left her: staring at the walls, breathing evenly. He stood in the doorway and watched her. This elf had a similar build to Saribel; small but mighty, pretty yet powerful. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth in spite of his better judgment; what would she have been like as a drow? He wondered. Who was this woman?

She turned to face him then, “I’m surprised you’re back. Have you really failed so quickly?”

He entered the room and sat on the cot behind her, “How much does your next round of information cost?” he asked, placing his hands on her shoulders, running them down her arms, and then back up to her neck. “Your freedom? Or something more?”

Dahlia smiled, “My freedom is all it will cost you. That does entail getting my gear back, of course.”

“Of course,” he whispered, leaning in close to her, “and how will you get this information? Obviously a chasm has opened in your group, they won’t take you back.”

“Are you so sure?” She turned then, looking at him over her shoulder.

“I am.”

She laughed, a light and airy sound, “Then you obviously have not been paying attention.”

Tiago dug his fingers into her skin hard enough to leave bruises. “What is it?” he hissed into her torn ear, “What is it that you know that is so damning?” She turned closer to his face and snapped her teeth threateningly. He slapped her in the back of the head, bending her at the waist with the force. “I wouldn’t.” He stood and paced around the cot to face her.

She laughed, not bothering to straighten, “Let me tell you a secret: I don’t want to kill Drizzt Do’Urden.”

His eyebrows shot up and he sat back down. “Oh?”

“What I want,” Dahlia began to straighten, slightly crazed look in her eye, “is to _destroy_ him. Crush him from the inside out and take everyone who even _thinks_ they care for him down.” Her gaze locked on him, “You are intrigued. Well, let me make you a new offer; you help me crush the ranger’s soul and I will not stop you.”

“Stop me from what?” he prompted when she trailed off.

She leaned in close and he did not pull away, “That depends on what you want to do, doesn’t it?” She lurched forward and dissolved into a fit of maddened laughter.

Tiago stood and left her to laugh without so much as a whisper of noise, shutting the door and locking it behind him. Her offer had seemed valid enough, particularly if her information checked out, but her madness... He entertained the idea of letting her go to pursue her mission alone and letting her crumble on her own time. He also entertained the idea of taking her up on that offer and just killing her once he had the rogue drow, or better yet, locking her in the same cell as the ranger and seeing who killed who first.

So many options.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Draygo Quick's heart skipped a beat when he saw the dark elf sitting in his chair, casually ruffling through paperwork. The old warlock skittered right up to the desk, leaning forward and casting a shadow over the stacks of parchment. "I did not expect you so soon," he whispered, excitement edging his voice, "what do you have for me?"  
  
"Nothing you will want," Kimmuriel replied folding his hands on the desk and looking up at his visitor, "Your answers have yet to be found, but I assure you my best minds are ticking away."  
  
Draygo's joy fell into a pot of boiling rage, “Then what in the Hells are you doing here?"  
  
The psionicist stood. He circled the desk so he could better face the Lord Quick. "What I have for you," he said, tucking his hands behind his back, "is a statement of fact that I believe you should be made aware of."  
  
The warlock could not be less enthused, "Oh?"  
  
"Drizzt Do'Urden and his company have returned from Icewind Dale at long last. Effron Alegni included."  
  
Draygo nearly gasped at the news. Nearly. He'd been waiting for the chance to get that insufferable boy and his little band of friends back in his dungeon for ages after the disgraceful rescue. He eyed Kimmuriel scathingly, remembering this particular dark elf's part in the whole ordeal.  
  
"Op," the elf clicked his tongue, waving a disapproving finger at the other man, "see, that is what I came here to address." When Draygo only raised a confused eyebrow, Kimmuriel explained, "I have certain...contingencies in place. These require that Drizzt Do'Urden and his friends, Effron included, remain alive and free for the time being."  
  
"And how long will that be?" The warlock all but snarled.  
  
"Until I say otherwise," Draygo wasn't sure if it was the order itself, or the flippant tone the dark elf used that angered him so, "I know you have a personal vendetta, but you will not act upon it. To do so would be to stand against me."  
  
Draygo leaned heavily against his desk, "Who do you think you are?" He said. Suddenly, he had the drow's fullest attention, and he gave it a sneer, "You come into my home, unannounced and uninvited, with nothing to give me but orders. What is this really about?"  
  
When Kimmuriel did not answer, Draygo stared him down, "Is this about your band of mercenaries? Do you want some sort of reward for Do'Urden's head? Power uncontested, perhaps?"  
  
Kimmuriel's expression darkened, "My motivations do not concern you. When all is said and done, you will get what you were promised. Until then, you shall not stand in my way."  
  
The warlock locked his gaze, smug and defiant, not wanting to take orders from anyone, much less this man that had so embarrassed him, "And if I find I cannot obey this order?"  
  
The drow closed the small gap between them, voice deadpan, but resonating deep in the warlock's mind, "Then you shall not stand at all."  
  
Momentarily stunned, Draygo watched the drow leave without another sound.

 

-0-0-0-0-0-

Ravel Xorlarrin was grumbling under his breath as he sank into his chair at a corner table in the Stonecutter’s Solace. He reached up and pulled his cowl low, casting a deeper shadow over his face, eyes darting to the two scouts occupying shadows in the rafters. The spellspinner was the least pleased to be there of the three, but had not been able to argue with Tiago. The last thing he wanted to do was spark the wrath of the priestesses and his own Matron should Tiago’s source be right and they missed yet another opportunity to catch the renegade.

Lo and behold, Tiago’s source had held true; Do’Urden’s party, including the drow himself, arrived in Port Llast a day and a half after Ravel and the scouts, conspicuously short one member.

So that was Tiago’s informant.

The group stayed in the common room for some time, exchanging stories and being copiously fed by the locals. “Huzzahs” and other such shouts were had all around.

The drow and his company left the inn with an elf whom the locals dubbed “Dorwyllan” shortly after the buzz of their arrival had died down. Ravel and the scouts soon followed as the band of five was taken on a tour through the city; they were shown some of the rebuilt buildings and new sections of the wall, all parties seemed happy with status of the port city and the progress it had made in their absence.

“And we all have you to thank,” Dorwyllan was saying when the spellspinner was finally in earshot, “Without you, all of you, Llast would all but be deserted. I only wish you had visited sooner.”

Do’Urden shared in the elf’s joy, but seemed to have less heart in it, “I am glad to see our efforts did not go to waste, Dorwyllan, thank you.”

The elf left the group then, stating that he was needed elsewhere by sundown but that he would see them all come morning. The group split up shortly after, the assassin going one way, the dwarf going another, the monk and the warlock returning to the inn, leaving the ranger to wander alone. Ravel absently wondered where the scouts had placed themselves and if they could see this.

Obviously not, since the Xorlarrin followed the drow about the city for hours and did not once see his progress contested. What were those scouts doing? _He_ could have captured the rogue by now. But Tiago’s words still rang clear in his thoughts, and he stayed his hand. For now.

_You will remain unseen_. _You will observe._

Ultimately he found the ranger wandering around one of the, now operational, docks. One of his companions was already there, milling about, and Do’Urden hurried to join him.

“What are you doing? That is an excellent way to be ambushed,” Drizzt said when he was close enough to not have to shout and be heard.

The human gestured to the water, which still had some patches of ice that were reluctant to melt in the rising spring warmth. “I doubt it,” he said, not turning to face the man that had just joined him, eyes pointed skyward.

“Then, I ask you again,” the dark elf said with a laugh, “What are you doing?”

“Watching the moon rise,” the assassin replied, finally turning around. “It seemed like a better idea than wandering around aimlessly,” he said to his companion’s curious tilt of the head.

“I always pegged you for a people-watcher if anything.”

“I like to do that too.”

Drizzt cast his face skyward alongside his human companion. The same one, Ravel noted, that Berellip had identified in Gauntlgrym. Jarlaxle’s man. What was his name again? Ravel looked up with them after a time, finding the small silver disc among the clouds, about the size of a coin. It was quickly lost in the dense mist and dangerously dark clouds.

“It’s hard to see,” Drizzt was saying when Ravel returned his attention to the pair.

The human made an affirmative noise, “Northland isn’t very good for moon watching.”

“And southland is?” The ranger laughed.

His companion seemed to take that as a challenge, “Dwahvel and I used to sit on the roof of the Copper Ante and the moon would be so close I could swear we could reach out and touch it.”

Drizzt offered him another curious head-tilt, “’Dwahvel’? I don’t believe I’ve heard that name before. Who is it?”

The assassin shook his head, backpedaling, “A story for another time is who that is.” They stood in silence after that, or relative silence since they had lowered their voices and Ravel could not hear what they were saying until the human broke out in laughter, “Is it really such a secret?”

The drow hissed at him, “Will you keep your voice down?” And again, they lowered their voices.

Ravel had to resist the urge to yawn as he watched them speak in hushed murmurs and gestures. Sometimes the whispers would turn into a few normally spoken words; his sensitive ears could make out some of them: “Injury”, “Icewind Dale”, and “Dahlia” as well as the changing inflection of questions and the scathing deadpan of answers that should already be common knowledge. His attention piqued when they drew closer to each other, not quite touching, but still too close to be considered anything but intimate. Their whispering drew even quieter, and a cheeky grin graced the human’s features. The Xorlarrin leaned and slid across the shadows, but could not get a good look at the ranger’s face.

The assassin’s smile died for a moment, face becoming serious but not dark or angry.

Ravel wished he could have gotten closer, but knowing the reputation of this one, anything closer was sure to get him spotted.

The human said something to his companion, placing his hands on the dark elf’s shoulders and looking him straight in the eye as he did so. He turned to leave—

“Wait.”

 --But Do’Urden wouldn’t let him, grabbing him by the forearm and pulling him in close. Very close.

Ravel nearly fell over when he realized it was a kiss.

The ranger threw his arms around the man to negate any chance of retreat. Not that the assassin took any, melting into the kiss as though he had been waiting for it to happen with bated breath. They stayed like that, locked with each other for some time. Ravel smiled. “I did not know you fancied men, Do’Urden,” he whispered to himself as he sank deeper into the shadows, “this is most interesting.”

They broke apart shortly after that, Drizzt pulling away awkwardly, head tilted toward the ground, hand going to the back of his neck to soothe away some of his embarrassment.

Also interesting.

They exchanged a few words, before the human bid him farewell and headed back toward Stonecutter’s Solace. Drizzt told him he’d join up in a few moments. The human hesitated, but departed without another word. Once he was gone, the elf held his head in his hands.

“What is wrong with me?” he growled at himself, loud enough that Ravel could hear before dissolving in to quiet murmurs and confused groans.

He was alone again. The spellspinner could see the faint shimmer of weapons in the distance. The scouts had arrived.

About damn time.


	6. Needs

The first dart buzzed past just as he turned to leave. The second swept through strands of his hair, but fell harmlessly aside. He caught a glimpse of them, two men wielding hand-crossbows standing at the edge of the dock, before blackness eclipsed his vision.  
  
Drizzt readied himself to whistle, but stopped short. If these two had managed to sneak up on him, Artemis probably had his hands full already.  
  
Drizzt drew his blades, raising them defensively, bracing for impact.

None came.

Drizzt, taking initiative, burst out of the globe of darkness, a spinning flurry of steel. The two men, dark elves in fact, had to raise their weapons in defense of the blur of the ranger’s blades. The two scouts tried in vain to keep Do’Urden in between them, but he danced in circles around them.

They were young and not particularly skilled. The fight was over quickly. One in leather engaged him directly, determined look in his eyes. His companion in chainmail side stepped, putting some distance between himself and the pair.

Drizzt wouldn’t let him get far, weaving into the space between the two opponents, engaging both at once.

The ranger swept his blades in a wide arc, the force of the blow disarming the scout in chainmail, sending his sword spinning into the icy water. Before the boy could regain his wits, Drizzt planted a firm foot to his chest, knocking him backward, sending him sliding across the dock after his weapon.

The leather-clad scout was obviously the more proficient of the two; he nearly managed to score a hit on the ranger when his back was turned. Nearly. Steel clanged against steel as the scout tried to ward off the barrage of masterful attacks from both sides with a sword and dagger.  He was light on his feet, but not quick enough to avoid a multitude of superficial, stinging cuts and a deep slash to his thigh, just above the knee.

His dagger dropped from his hand as his wounded leg buckled beneath him. With an angry snarl, the scout renewed his attack; trailing his bleeding limb and gripping his sword with both hands, swinging wildly.  It was nothing for the skilled ranger to step inside the arc of the scout’s sword and sink his dwarven-made scimitar into the elf’s exposed side.

Drizzt felt the dart sink into his thigh mid-swing, but it and the burn of its poison did nothing to slow his momentum. The blade of his scimitar sliced through the leather of the scout’s armor and even deeper into flesh leaving the elf to tumble away, gasping for breath that could not come quickly enough. Blood pooled rapidly around the wound and his breathing slowed to a stop.

Drizzt turned to face his other opponent but the poison was already gripping his limbs. His mind, however, remained sharp. Not that it mattered, his hands and feet were responding slower and slower to his commands. He blocked a few swings, but then stumbled, leaning into the motion and allowing himself to fall temporarily out of his attacker’s line of sight. He tried to scramble away, to put some distance between them, but he couldn’t move quickly enough to do any real good for his cause.

There was no pursuit, however. When Drizzt managed to push himself up and turn around, he saw the remaining scout just where he’d left him, but flailing. The elf was gasping, chainmail rattling, clutching at a certain human’s belt knife lodged in his throat.

A protective hand came to Drizzt’s shoulder. “You were right,” Artemis’s voice laughed behind him, “that is an excellent way to get ambushed.”

“How…” Drizzt grunted when Artemis pulled the dart from his thigh. He made a confused noise as the human rose, and went to retrieve his knife from the elf’s neck.

“I know this poison,” Artemis said, gesturing to Drizzt’s form, “it numbs you up quick, but doesn’t last long. Should wear off within the hour, it’s really only meant to buy time. Can you speak?”

“I think so,” replied Drizzt with some difficulty.

“Good,” laughed the assassin, returning to his side, “If they stop speaking, you’ve used too much, and well… you know.” He made an exaggerated slicing motion across his neck.

“How long did it take you to get here? Were you attacked?” Drizzt buzzed with questions as Entreri lifted him shakily from the ground, wrapping one of the drow’s arms around his shoulders, just as he had when he dragged him into Icewind Dale.

“No, I wasn’t attacked,” Artemis huffed, the elf not much more than dead weight against him. “I really didn’t think you needed the aid.”

“You were there the whole time,” Drizzt deadpanned. Artemis nodded. “You were there the whole time and you didn’t once think to help me?”

Artemis only smiled at him.

“I hate you.”

“I doubt that.”

They made their way back through the wall and across the city of Port Llast. Artemis had to pause and tell the guards that there was no reason to worry, and no they didn’t need to come down, and yes he had it covered, and please just let us through. By the time the two companions were halfway to their destination, Drizzt regained some motor control and could help the assassin carry him. They had been moving in silence for some time and the drow couldn’t take it anymore.

“Did you mean what you said?” asked Drizzt, stumbling along rather ungracefully beside the human.

“Hmm?”

“What you said on the dock,” he clarified, “that I was lying to myself about you. About this. Did you mean that?”

Artemis thought for a moment, or seemed to at least, “If I did not mean it, I would not have said it. This is a farce to deal with the fact that you can’t handle being without your companions.”

“I have compan-“

“There.” Entreri cut him off, “you are doing it _right now_. Lying to yourself and pretending that you are okay. You’re actually worse at it now that you were before. You’re _obvious._ And if you _keep_ lying to yourself about what you need to get better, you will never be okay.”

“And you know that from experience,” venom as strong as the poison numbing his limbs dripped from his voice.

“Yes,” Artemis said, unfazed by the drow’s tone, “I do.”

Silence fell between them for a few streets.

“How…” Drizzt said, more to himself than Entreri and more hesitantly than he would have liked, “How do know what I need? I thought I knew, but I… I was wrong.”

Artemis shrugged, jostling Drizzt with the motion and smiling at the elf’s momentary discomfort, “Sometimes the answer is forced upon you. Sometimes you find it yourself. Sometimes you find nothing at all.”

“How did you..?”

“Little of each.”

They arrived back at Stonecutter’s Solace and dropped the conversation altogether. They called for the other members of their small group of adventurers to meet them in one of the rooms upstairs as they passed through the common room. A trio of warm, excited expressions turning to them as they passed.

Their faces fell when they saw the state of the ranger.

-0-0-0-0-0-

“Ye sure this is the right way, elf?” Athrogate asked for the third time that evening.

Jarlaxle held out the small folded piece of parchment he had been periodically consulting since they first entered the forest. “Not much farther now, my friend.”

They came upon a small cabin nestled in Neverwinter Wood. Yellow light poured across the expanse of the porch from the front door resting slightly ajar. The soft smell a stew on a fire drifted on the breeze and wrapped around the dwarf’s head before reaching even reaching the elf.

“I like this girl o’ yers already,” Athrogate said with a laugh.

Jarlaxle made a thoughtful noise but said nothing as they mounted the porch steps. A woman’s voice called out to them just as the dark elf raised his hand to knock: “Come in,” she said, “I’ve been expecting you.”

With a shared look and a shrug the drow and his dwarf entered the cabin.

“Hello,” the redhead seated by the fire greeted them over her shoulder, absently stirring a pot of… something.

Whatever it was it called to the dwarf like a siren song. Without comment or request, Athrogate wandered over to the fire and peered in. The woman laughed and offered him the spoon.

“Do take care,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron and rising to face the drow.

Jarlaxle offered the slight, but pretty girl a low bow, sweeping his hat across the floor. He smiled with a glance to his friend, “That will only keep him distracted for a short time.”

“I’m counting on it,” the woman swept across the small room to a side table, and motioned for the elf to join her, “I am surprised you two arrived so quickly. I only sent the letter a few days ago.”

“And yet you expected us. You have eyes in the city?”

“I have eyes everywhere,” she tucked a rogue strand of hair behind her ear, “Now, I am sure you are eager to get down to business.”

“More eager for introductions,” he replied, studying her closely. She was a simple beauty, nothing overtly sexy or glamorous about her. Dressed in plain clothes with an even plainer face, her lack of adornments seemed to enhance her natural beauty in a way that should not have been possible. “I am Jarlaxle,” he smiled, taking her hand and pressing a polite kiss to her knuckles.

“Arunika,” she replied, withdrawing her hand, “and I know who you are, Jarlaxle, or else I would not have sent you the missive.”

Arunika pulled a moderately sized bundle of velvet from a space beneath the tablecloth and placed it on the table between them. Jarlaxle eyed the bundle curiously, lifting a corner of the rich, expensive fabric. The crystal ball beneath it twinkled as it caught the firelight. “I have been made aware that you have a special interest in a certain human. A one, Artemis Entreri. Is that correct?” she said, wicked smile widening when Jarlaxle blinked at her in surprise.

“Who, pray tell, gave you that information?” Jarlaxle shot back. He hadn’t been entirely comfortable with the situation in the first place, but this mysterious woman and her letter had been the first lead he had gotten as to Drizzt Do’Urden and Artemis Entreri’s whereabouts since he collected his dwarf in Baldur’s Gate more than a decade ago.

“I told you,” Arunika replied, “I have eyes everywhere.” She pulled back the fabric on her crystal ball, letting its smooth surface catch and swirl the warm light like fine wine, “I know where he is.”

Jarlaxle could boast the same claim to having eyes everywhere, but none of those eyes had yet to spot the location of those two elusive men. “How?”

“I have also taken a special interest in this man or should I say, his elf,” she said with a wink. “And I’ve been keeping an eye on him and his companions.” The woman waved her hand across the surface of the orb. The orange light trapped within clouded and swirled unnaturally until an image formed. Artemis was leaning against a wall, not too far from a seated Drizzt on a bed, and they addressed the other members of their little gang. But one person was suspiciously absent.

Where was Dahlia?

He posed that question to Arunika. She shrugged, “all I know is that the group is no longer in Icewind Dale. I’ve only very recently discovered them. Well, re-discovered.”

“How’d ye manage this?” the dwarf said pointing to the ball with the wooden spoon over Jarlaxle’s shoulder, “How’d ye manage to find him so quickly with yer… ball…thingy.”

Jarlaxle raised his eyebrows, implying a similar question.

“He is… marked,” she replied with a sly wink. “He has not taken notice to it. Then again, I did catch him with his guard down.”

“Bwhahaha”

The drow had to force himself to remain serious. “Where are they now?”

“Port Llast. But not for much longer.”

The dwarf snorted, “Why?”

“Listen.”

-0-0-0-0-0-

Artemis scratched the back of his neck as he waited for Drizzt to finish recounting his attack at the docks.

“Skin condition?” Afafrenfere asked.

The assassin realized he hadn’t been paying attention, “Probably a fungus from all this damp,” he shot back, “I hope it’s not contagious.” He gave the monk a wicked smile.

Afafrenfere made a face.

“Any ideas?” Drizzt interjected before things could turn nasty.

Artemis spoke first, “They’re probably Tiago’s men. I doubt the Bregan D’aerthe have any real reason to come after you. Unless they want repayment for what happened at Draygo Quick’s castle.”

“I doubt that,” the ranger sighed, “They would cash out in the form of a favor not try to kidnap me.”

Afafrenfere spoke next, “How would Tiago’s men know we were here?”

“Dahlia.” Effron replied, voice dark. The rest of the group looked at him, but he only scowled at a blank spot on the wall, obviously unhappy with his own idea.

Ambergris spoke after some time, “I don’t-“

“We haven’t seen her for days,” Effron cut her off, “ten-days, most of the spring even. We were wrong to ever trust her, and now she knows enough about us to tear us all down.”

“Effron-“

The warlock made a frustrated noise and looked to the drow that had addressed him. “What? Are you going to tell me that there’s no way she could have made it to Tiago? That she had no reason to betray us? Really? She hates me, tried to kill you, and-“

“Effron.” Louder this time, “Enough. Dahlia may have the motivation to betray us, but the way Tiago responded to her when we were in Gauntlgrym leads me to believe that he wouldn’t take her help even if she offered it to him.” Drizzt looked to Artemis who nodded in agreement. The drow brought his gaze back to Effron “and-“

“Don’t” the boy sighed, “Don’t say it. We both know it isn’t true.” He shook his head and stormed out of the room.

“I’ll get him,” Afafrenfere dashed after him. When the door clicked shut behind the two men, the remaining three members of the group shared an exasperated look.

“While those two’re off being dramatic and moody, what’re we gonna do about this?” Ambergris asked.

Drizzt and Artemis looked at each other, then back to the dwarf. “Well,” Artemis began, “Tiago’s obviously not as stupid as we thought he was. He’s probably placed scouts in all of our usual haunts.”

“Then why not take the elf in Icewind Dale?”

Drizzt answered for him, “I was snuck into the city, remember? No one knew I was there.”

“But why just the two? Is there a runner or something we don’t know about?” the assassin mused, more to himself than the others.

Ambergris grinned, “Let’s go in an’ ask him! Show him that he doesn’t go around picking fights with the likes of us.”

“No,” the two men said together, prompting hilariously confused looks all around.

“No,” Drizzt took over, “He’ll be expecting us if there was a runner with the two that attacked me. Regardless, he and his men are in Gauntlgrym. You don’t get much more defensible than a dwarven ruin.”

The priest made an angry noise, but couldn’t find an argument better than “We should go and kill him anyway,” to which the men just shook their heads and sighed.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Afafrenfere caught Effron before he made it to the stairs. “You need to calm down,” he said, grabbing the tiefling by his trailing arm. “ _Effron_.”

He didn’t turn around. “Leave me alone.”

“Eff-“

“No!”

The monk sighed, but refused to let go of Effron’s arm rooting the warlock to the spot. “Effron…” He wanted to pull him into a hug, to tell him things would be okay, but resisted the urge. “You need to keep it together.”

The boy fell against the wall, leaning heavily against the sturdy boards and wrenching his limp arm from Afafrenfere’s grip. “She lied to me,” he whimpered, “She lied to me, and I believed her. I thought… for a moment maybe… we could reconcile. That I could have-“

“A mother?” the monk offered, pressing his shoulder to the wall beside Effron, “A family?”

The boy blew out a breath, deflating, “My father was awful. And Draygo… I—“ his voice caught, “I should have killed her, but—I wanted answers. I wanted a reason for everything. And she buckled, and cried and said that she felt horrible for what she did to me. That she blamed my father for it.” He made an angry noise. “She blamed my father for her actions.”

“Effron-“

“I was _her_ son too,” he was on the verge of tears. His voice cracked every few words. “She lied to me. She did not regret what she did. She didn’t want anything to do with me. She abandoned all of us without so much as a farewell, or a word, or even a note. Just poof” he mimed a puff of smoke with his good hand, “gone. Not a care in the world for anything.” Afafenfere put a hand on his shoulder. “Is a family so much to ask for?” Effron asked, turning into the touch, surprised that the monk was so willing to place his hand on his mangled shoulder.

“No,” Afafrenfere answered, “But they are hard to come by.” Effron covered his face with his hand, stifling his emotion. “Hey…” the monk, unable to resist the urge to comfort anymore, ran a hand through the Effron’s dark hair, “let it go. Calm down. We’re your family now.”

Teary mismatched eyes narrowed suspiciously in his direction.

“Excluding Artemis, of course,” Afafrenfere elaborated with a light chuckle. “Drizzt obviously cares. Ambergris… is Ambergris but she’ll pull through in a pinch. And me,” he smiled brightly, “I care about what happens to you. We’ll be your family, and we won’t throw you off of anything, or lock you up anywhere unless it’s for your own good, yeah?”

Effron relaxed a bit, sniffling, “I… thanks. You guys don’t have to do that.”

“What? Care?”

The warlock nodded, “I haven’t done anything to earn it, and yet I receive your concern and your sympathy anyway.”

The monk’s smile brightened all the more, “That, my strange friend, is the definition of family.”

“Is it?”

“For us it is.”

Effron accepted the answer with a smile. He composed himself and the two young men went down to the tavern for drinks and more light-hearted conversations. The others would catch them up on the dreary realities later.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Arunika tossed the velvet square back over her crystal ball, “If I watch for too long,” she explained, “he will notice.”

“How do I know this is real?” Jarlaxle leaned back in his chair, “This could be some elaborate illusion for all I know.”

The woman smiled at him and leaned in closely, “Do you think it is an elaborate illusion, Jarlaxle?” she asked, voice dropping low. A sultry smile graced her round face.

The drow wasn’t sure what to think. She had summoned him here with promises of information and comforts. She fed his dwarf and showed him what she had to offer without asking for anything but his attention in return. Who was this woman? Better yet, _what_ was this woman? Surely she could not be human, cunning as Jarlaxle’s kind and guarded. She had something to hide. But what, and from whom?

“No,” he said, taking the bait if only to see where it would lead, “I think it is real. But, I must ask what do you want in return for this?”

Arunika rose from her seat, giving Jarlaxle a clear view of Athrogate. The dwarf was snoozing obnoxiously by the fire. Instinctively he rose to help him, but a strong hand held him firm to his chair. “He is fine,” Arunika’s voice whispered into his sharply pointed ear, “Only resting, to give us a bit of privacy to discuss our options. He will wake in the morning rested and fresh. Well, as fresh as a dwarf can be.”

Jarlaxle narrowed his exposed eye at the dwarf, but settled back down. “What do you want?” the words forced through tensely clenched teeth.

“We are not so different you and I,” said Arunika from behind him. She placed her delicate hands on the drow’s shoulders, rubbing gently, “we both see people as chess pieces to be moved, stalemated… sacrificed.” She leaned in close on his left side, nearly touching her cheek to his, “and right now, I look at my board and I see three little pawns with a clear shot to the other side.

“They will not all make it, of course,” she pulled away again, “Surely one or two will fail.”

“But you intend to back the winner of that race, regardless” Jarlaxle nodded, finding it hard not to relax into her touch. “Get a queen in your opponent’s ranks.”

“Chess player.” She said, leaning forward enough that he could see her bright smile, “That’s right.” The mirth was short-lived “I am of a certain… disposition. A disposition that is generally frowned upon by people like those of Neverwinter. I am, however, fond of my home and intend to keep it.”

Again, Jarlaxle nodded, “For that you need allies. Powerful ones. Victors, heroes, mercenaries.”

“Speaking of mercenaries, how is your little band holding up?”

The elf pulled away from her then, the question making him anxious. A rift had been forming between him and Kimmuriel since the debacle in Draygo Quick’s home. Who were the other players on her chess board besides himself and Do’Urden? Initially Tiago had popped into his mind being the third potential pawn, but now…

Now he wasn’t so sure.

Jarlaxle was not fond of being unsure.

“It’s fine,” he said, “Thriving even. Why?”

“There are whispers in the dark,” Arunika replied and resumed massaging his shoulders, “They may not be true, but I am forced to wonder: Whom do I side with?” She wrapped her arms around his neck and murmured in his ear, “The mighty Jarlaxle? Creator of the greatest drow mercenary band to ever scrape the topside of Faerûn?” She switched to his other ear, soft hand dipping beneath the collar of his shirt, and down across his skin “Or wise Kimmuriel? Current leader of that band?”

“You imply that Kimmuriel desires to dispose of me.” Jarlaxle responded, eyes focused, voice level. “That will not happen.”

“I wouldn’t be so certain,” she laughed, her voice becoming darker, more luxurious. More convincing, “He is a pragmatic sort, and he is tasting power.”

“He has his own goals,” he argued, but his resolve was dipping as low as the hand down his shirt, “he is an intellectual, not a politician, not a leader.”

She only smiled at him.

“What do you want?”

Arunika pulled away, standing and motioning for him to join her, “What I _need_ is in insurance. A plan B, should this arrangement not work out.”

There was barely any space between them once he stood beside her, “And what is this arrangement?”

“My home in this place… On this Plane.” Jarlaxle saw it then. The steady increase in her beauty. This was not the same woman that had greeted him and his companion by the fire only a few hours ago. Her slight frame had filled out, her features had sharpened, and the frizz of her red hair had become tamed into thick curls. All right under his nose. He heard the sultry invitation in her voice, rich and musical now, not commonplace and slightly shrill as it had been.

“Oh,” he said, smug smile inching its way on to his face. “Now why, would someone like you,” the dark elf leaned in, playing the game now, “want to stay in a place like this?”

“It is more interesting than the alternative.”

She grabbed him roughly by the lapel of his vest and half dragged, half led him to a back room. Jarlaxle’s laugh was muffled by the mouth against his and quickly melted into breathy commands and heated groans between them as the door slid shut without a whisper of noise. Athrogate was left, snoring, on the floor without a care in the world.

-0-0-0-0-0-

The group dispersed to their rooms shortly after Effron and Afafrenfere returned, no more sure of their course than they had been when the ranger finished his story at the beginning of the meeting. Collectively, they decided to sleep on it, and come out with new ideas in the morning, preferably ideas that didn’t involve running headlong into the lion’s den with no more than a few talented fighters and some halfway decent luck, much to Ambergris’s chagrin.

Drizzt collapsed heavily on his bed, hearing the legs creak and complain with the impact. The poison had worn off, just as Entreri said it would, but the ranger still felt heavy. Weighted.  Although, time on the road with his companions had helped improve his demeanor, and he had gotten a few sidelong comments showing that his friends had noticed too.

“Good to have you back,” Was the chief comment, and that one had only started after their short stay in Mithril Hall.

He wondered just how obvious he had been. How far gone they’d thought he was, just what he had looked like to them. Did they worry? Did they want to help him but just not know how or where to look? Were they lying awake right now trying to figure out what he needed in addition to plan about dealing with the drow problem that had reared its ugly head?

What _did_ he need?

Drizzt lay on his back, hands tucked behind his head, staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours. He couldn’t find the answer. His mind kept drifting back to his old companions, ones long gone from this world and he had to forcefully remind himself that they were no longer an option.

Well, no longer an option he could easily get to.

Perhaps he could replace his old companions in spirit. Not projecting, as Artemis had warned him he was doing, but in the purposes they served, the holes in his heart they had filled. A dwarf, steadfast and unafraid of a challenge, to inspire courage and conviction. A young man, in need of leadership and guidance, someone to be taught and thereby help his teacher learn as well. A shady sort, but not a shadow entirely, friendly and light-hearted, not taking the world seriously, an inspiration to love the simpler things.

Drizzt realized then that he still had those things and laughed at himself. Perhaps he was not so free of his friends after all, and, perhaps, he never would be. Was it such a stretch to believe that the Companions of the Hall might live on, but with different names, different faces, different upbringings? That in essence no matter where Drizzt found himself, no matter what side of his moral compass decided it wanted to be north, his friends might always be there in spirit.

He felt better then. Lighter.

The ranger knew that he could not force these people to be the same as the ones he had lost. But that revelation was something to warm his heart by.

Then he thought of Catti-brie, the only one that didn’t seem to have an essence other than the love he felt for her, and the weight returned. How would he fill _that_ void? That chasm that had opened in his heart when he watched her taken away, powerless to do anything but stare. What does one need to repair that damage?

Falling into himself, into the shadow of the Hunter, wasn’t an option. Was never an option, really. Drizzt sighed, ashamed of himself for ever having considered it as he heard Artemis’s words from the cave ring true in his heart:

_“Or does it end heroically, in the face of unbelievable odds fighting for everything he believed in, and everything his friends and loved ones had already sacrificed their own lives for?”_

Drizzt knew that falling victim to bloodlust, giving in to the strength of his anger and bitterness and pain was not a road worth taking for him. Not after so many had given themselves up for the contrary.

Casual romance was right out too. He laughed at himself again as he thought of his whirlwind affair with Dahlia and just how wrong for him she had been. How wrong she had been in general. Always undermining his morality, and scoffing at his desire to help others, flaunting herself at him, not listening to anyone as if she knew best despite being little more than a child. He shook his head, she was a child. A child that had endured much, and seemed to use her pain as an excuse for-

Drizzt sat bolt upright when the realization hit him.

“Oh,” he buried his face in his hands and released a little half-hearted laugh. Dahlia used her pain as an excuse for her actions, however foolhardy, and as a barb to hurt the ones that wanted to understand her. To manipulate the people around her.

Suddenly Effron’s fit and storming out of the room made more sense.

He shook his head and wondered what he had ever seen in the woman outside of her looks.

Her innocence? He had thought so, but the harder he looked at his memories the more difficult that innocence was to find outside of her appearance; all blue eyes and fair skin and red hair.

Again, Drizzt Do’Urden kicked himself mentally.

He saw Catti-brie when he looked at her directly. Wanted to see Catti-brie’s smile to reassure him, to hear her voice advise him, to feel her hand on his shoulder steering him back into himself. But no. Dahlia never tried to do that, and now the memory in his mind was not a woman that looked like Catti-brie, but a different animal altogether, a hard-faced, scantily clad seductress that wanted what she wanted, when she wanted it, with no thought of the consequences. And the two women would remain separate in his memory from then on.

Several moments passed in quiet contemplation of this division. He wondered what had spurred it, why hadn’t he been able to make these same connections before.

His thoughts drifted back to Artemis; the soft, patient, reassuring smiles when no one was looking, the firm voice advising him, the strong hand on his shoulder steering him back into himself.

Drizzt blinked a few times in the darkness. He gathered up his clothing, quickly dressed and padded across the hall to the assassin’s room.

Artemis swung his door open on the third knock. He was still dressed, or at least he still had his shirt and breeches on, and appeared to be in the process of getting ready for bed. A few candles burned behind him, dim, but light enough to see by. “Do you need something?” he asked, leaning in the space between the doorframe and the partially opened door.

Drizzt didn’t even blink, “Yes.”

“And what is that?”

The ranger put his hand on the doorframe, just under the assassin’s, barely brushing against him, “Will you let me in?”

Artemis considered the request for a moment that felt like an age. He grabbed the dark elf by his shirt front and pulled him just far enough into the room so he could shut the door. By the time they stopped moving Drizzt was pinned between the solidness of Artemis Entreri and the unyielding wood of the door. “What do you need?” he huffed, close enough to the elf that their breaths began to mingle.

“You,” Artemis scoffed and moved to pull away, but Drizzt held him in place by his shirtsleeves. “I need what you have been offering me. I am willing to repay you.”

“With what?”

Their gazes dropped to the space between them, unsure where else to look. “With what _you_ need,” Drizzt said after a moment, “purpose. Duty. A mission.”

“And what will I give you?”

“Armor,” The elf didn’t elaborate on the point, pulling the human against him in a rough kiss.

They parted, breathless and pressed to the door. The assassin hesitated briefly, not pulling away but not closing in either, confused. He lingered there, so close and yet so far, unsure of his course of action, if this was really the best thing. Until, the elf that held him close softly called his name and he realized it didn’t really matter. They could sort it out in the morning.

Drizzt couldn’t help but smile to himself when Artemis dove back in at his call. What surprised him though, was that the man didn’t go for a kiss, but bit him on the neck.

Hard.

“Don’t tease me about this,” Artemis hissed in his ear when the elf jumped at the sharp jolt of pain. “I will not be used as some crutch.”

The ranger pushed him away, just enough to look into his dark eyes; made darker still in against the flush in his face and the dimness of the candlelight.

“That’s not what this is and you know it.”

“Do I?”

Drizzt pulled him in close enough that their foreheads pressed together, “You know that you can trust me more than anyone else,” he offered. “That even when you deserved to _die_ I would not hurt you, even if it was in my best interest. Why would I do so now when I need you the most?”

That seemed to placate the man, and once again, the space between them was no more.  The kiss was slower this time, deeper, softer than the one that preceded it. A gentle hand nudged Drizzt’s hip, pulling him away from the door and guiding him languidly across the room. They broke apart briefly a few times, discarding articles of clothing as they went.

They finally stopped to breathe once the ranger was pinned beneath his new bedmate on the turned-down blankets of Artemis’s bed. The assassin was rifling through a bedside drawer for… something, and Drizzt sucked in huge gulps of air, eyes locked on the rafters resisting the ever-present urge to tighten his leg muscles and pull the man closer to him.

A sly glint graced the man’s dark eyes as he popped the cork out of a small bottle of oil, “You can still back out,” he said, voice so husky and low Drizzt barely recognized it. The drow ground against the man comfortably nestled between his legs in response. Taking that as an invitation, the man dipped his fingers into the bottle and flipped it upside down with a flick of his wrist. Clear liquid coated his fingers and slipped between them covering his palm and leaving slightly darkened trails down the back of his hand.

He replaced the cork with his clean hand, tossing the bottle to the side, within easy reach. The assassin fell back over the drow, supporting his weight with one arm, their noses a hair’s breadth away. “You asked for this.”

Drizzt smiled coyly and kissed him.

It wasn’t what Drizzt expected. Though, if Drizzt chose to be honest, he would say that he’d had no idea what to expect exactly. His relationships prior to this encounter had exclusively involved women and the prospect of being with a man, much less the logistics of it, never really crossed his mind. But, his bedmate seemed to know what he was doing.

A lump formed in his throat muting his moans to panting whispers and heavy breathing. The world grew hazy around him, just waves of pleasure tinged with a sinful burn pulling short undignified noises from the drow. He could hear Artemis laugh quietly at him, and his face burned in weird mixture of embarrassment and lust, but Drizzt couldn’t find the coordination to do anything but desperately hold on to the man.

Until he pulled away.

Drizzt made a disappointed noise, unwilling to let go. Artemis just grinned at him and pressed his mouth to Drizzt’s in a slow, deep kiss. His skin burned along the trail of soft kisses and bites the human left on his neck and jaw, up to his ear.

“Still with me? I lost you there for a while.”

Embarrassment spread like a wildfire across his dark skin. Normally he had more control than this. He tangled his fingers in the assassin’s dark hair and tugged in retaliation for the comment and the laugh. Drizzt got a bite to the collarbone for his trouble.

They lay like that for a while; tangled in each other, warm enough to sweat in the cool spring night. The human buried his face, all lips, teeth, tongue, and scratchy stubble in the hollow of the drow’s throat. He ground his hips against the elf’s, slow, teasing, seductive promises in every drawn out motion. Breathing turned into panting, and panting back into moans.

Not wasting any more time, Artemis hooked his elbows beneath Drizzt’s knees, adjusting to a slightly more comfortable position.

“Deep breath.”

The warning didn’t exactly help. The sudden presence and pressure, was more than it had been before and it took nearly all of Drizzt’s willpower to not cry out. The muscles in his legs tensed, his back arched, sharp teeth dug into his lip as a low moan slipped through his defenses. Artemis, head bowed, seemed to have a similar problem with silence; a short grunt of effort escaping through barred teeth.

That lump in Drizzt’s throat was back and turned every pleasured moan into a desperate whimper. His nails dug into the human’s pale skin, leaving bright red lines across his shoulders and neck.

Rhythm came to them easily. Slow and weak at first, but building quickly as they grew more comfortable. Every thrust sent a wave of heat and pressure up to that damnable lump in his throat, and back down to the knot forming in his abdomen, pulling it tighter and tighter—

_Oh merciful Gods_.

The knot snapped and sent bright white stars across his vision and rough, uncontrolled cry from deep within his chest. The ranger held tightly to his human bedmate, avoiding the numbing blackness that clawed at his senses until it left him, spent and shaking in reality.

He felt the warm waves of the human moving against him, inside him, less acutely; his body no longer fully in his control. Loose muscles trembled at the hint of movement, and wanton moans escaped him with humiliating frequency, but the afterglow was too nice for Drizzt to even think about caring.

He could hear Artemis’s soft grunts and groans build briefly build in intensity, pause for a moment, and taper off to labored breaths that blended with the thrum of blood rushing in Drizzt’s ears. The assassin collapsed against him; sweat slicked skin rapidly drying in the open air.

A few moments to regain lost wits, and they untangled themselves.

What happened after that was blur.

He knew that Artemis had gotten up to put out the candles that still lit the room, and some other minor fussings, before returning to his place on the bed beside the drow. Skin too warm to touch they slept with a healthy amount of space between them, not that it mattered; both men were content with just the company and prospect of having someone worth waking up beside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gods, I've written a romance novel.  
> Ah, well.


	7. A Heartbeat in the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to get caught up with the Tumblr posts.  
> /casually posts 6 chapters at once

Drizzt felt the space of his room; the distance of the stone walls from the bed, the placement of the furniture so acutely that he could probably rise and get dressed without cracking an eye open. He instinctively oriented himself around the door even though it was apparently too early to hear the march of the dwarves drown out the sound of soft breathing and gentle snoring beside him. He felt safe and warm. He felt at home.

Briefly.

But after a moment he realized that he wasn’t resting on fur. That the wool blankets wrapped around him weren’t his from Mithril Hall, that the noise he heard was not the rising of dwarves, but of the humans of Port Llast and there was not but silence in the room. He could hear loud, plodding footsteps just outside his door and attributed them to his waking.

Drizzt Do’Urden’s heart sank.

It took him several moments to reorient himself to his surroundings. He could feel a dull ache in his lower back and a stinging in the arm tucked under him. He shifted, finding himself tangled in the sheets and blankets. When he settled once more, he buried his face in the soft down pillow and listened to the sounds whispering in the darkness of predawn and tried to sort out what had happened the night before.

It sank in slowly.

He slept with Artemis.

Drizzt wanted to groan into his pillow feeling himself foolish, but not altogether regretting the night. He stopped himself, though, when he remembered the human sleeping beside him. Well, supposedly sleeping beside him. Drizzt could scarcely hear a sound from the man. Perhaps he had gotten up in the middle of the night again and was still up somewhere.

He slid a hand across the sheets, seeking confirmation of the absence of his bedmate. Cold skin met his fingertips before he’d even halfway straightened his elbow.

Odd.

Drizzt felt his heartbeat faster in spite of the deep breaths he was taking. He would never claim to know the man’s habits very well, but there was at least one thing Drizzt had become sure of when it came to Artemis Entreri; he snored when he slept. The drow listened harder, but his heartbeat filled his ears and the sounds from outside the room, downstairs in the tavern, were suddenly too loud for his sensitive hearing to sort through.

Suddenly he felt very nervous.

That frightened, shaky part of him thought back to that morning in Mithril Hall; when he woke without the sound of Catti-brie snoring soundly in his ear as she had done so many nights before. He made a pained noise in spite of himself, reluctant to open his eyes and be forced to bear witness to an encore of that day’s performance.

He knew it wasn’t rational, part of him did anyway, but that part seemed to have a very hard time speaking up in that moment.

 Drizzt felt his way across the small expanse of bed between himself and the human. He curled up against the man’s side, tucking himself under Artemis’s arm and pressing an ear to his firm chest. The human’s skin was chill to his touch. He pressed in close, feeling soft bristles brush his cheek and ear, but couldn’t hear anything over the rush of blood in his ears and the shortness of his breathing.

In that moment Drizzt Do’Urden forgot himself and did something he’d disciplined himself against for decades: he began to panic. He couldn’t find his voice, or even the strength to shove the human into wakefulness, or even find the proper train of thought to see those things as options. His thoughts kept pulling him back to that long ago morning and the wonderful night that preceded it, and he couldn’t find the willpower to move beyond pressing in closer. He couldn’t even feel a rise and fall in the man’s chest.

His breath drew short. His heart raced past normal its normal speed to the light flutter of a hummingbird’s wing. He tried to tell himself to calm down, that this was different, that it wouldn’t happen again, but he couldn’t get past the burning in his eyes or the cold weight in his stomach.

If he could just hear it. For just a second. But the rushing, ringing noise and the pained huff of his breath wouldn’t let him.

Just one heartbeat. A sign of life. Something. Anything.

He could feel the ball of panic tighten inside him, pulling his muscles with it. A pained, desperate noise pressed itself against his teeth. He felt sick. Distant. Terrified.

Not again.

Not this one too.

Not now.

The arm across his back tightened, wrapping around his drawn-in frame. Fingers gently brushed against his back and shoulder blade. A second hand came and ran its fingers through his hair, gently shaking out tangles and loose knots when their passage through the snowy strands was hindered.

_Ba-bump._

Drizzt melted into the embrace, emotion bubbling out before he had a chance to stop it. He could feel himself tremble, desperately holding on to the human as if that embrace was the one thing keeping him there. Tears burned his eyes, but he held them in as best he could; squeezing his eyes shut until his head ached, little did it help.

_Ba-bump_. Such a relieving sound when accompanied by the rumble of the assassin’s voice whispering gentle comforts to him: “It’s okay”, “Breathe”, “Calm down”, “I’m still here.”

_I’m still here._

The ranger relaxed after a time, finally cracking his damp eyes open to the bright light of morning. Hushed, agonizing noises became soft sniffles and deep breaths. The tight arm around the assassin’s waist loosened to rest against him. Drizzt could have sworn he felt the human press a kiss to the top of his head.

“You alright?” Artemis said clearly once the dust settled.

Drizzt’s voice caught in his throat on his first attempt at speaking. He coughed and tried again, “I think so.”

The human’s hands became idle, “Feel better?”

“A little,”Drizzt sighed, pushing himself into a sitting position, “I don’t-“ he sputtered a bit, and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes so hard he saw stars in an attempt to better collect himself. All that emotion, that desperate reaching for the man in the middle of the night. Everything leading up to this. None of it really made sense to him in that moment; he struggled to find a way to connect past with present. To justify waking up beside and clinging to a man he was supposed to hate. A man that had been an enemy, a weapon used against him, for so long.

When he opened his eyes again Artemis was propped up on his elbows, watching him closely. The bright orange of the sunshine brought lively color back to his greyed skin. A sleepy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth just under the scraggly black patch that darkened his jaw, chin, and a portion of his neck. Dark strands of hair, ruffled by sleep, cast jagged shadows across his brow and steel-grey, and very alert eyes. He seemed so comforting then. So human. “It’s okay,” he said softly.

And, strangely enough, it was.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Dahlia lay flat on her little cot and stared at the ceiling. It was only a matter of time now, before whoever the dark elf had sent to investigate her information returned and proved her right. She wondered how Tiago would take it. She was “inferior” as he so often called her.

He was an odd sort, she surmised, based on the way he spoke and carried himself. He was obviously keeping her a secret from the others, perhaps to avoid retribution from those others who seemed to also despise her for being non-drow. She wondered if he would come clean about her to them, or if he would keep her his little secret forever.

She saw the way he looked at her. The hesitant curiosity laced with dismissiveness and disapproval. He could be brought around in time, she was sure. They always could. It would take a bit more coaxing than the bleeding hearted heroes, but it was possible. Men were so easy.

Absently she wondered what he might prove to be like as a lover.

She wondered and bided her time.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Ravel Xorlarrin spent the following morning in Port Llast instead of reporting straight back to Neverwinter after the events of the previous night. Tiago had ordered him to garner information about the group that accompanied Drizzt Do’Urden, and he intended to do just that.

He had seen the drow go to the, still nameless, human’s room the night before. They were lovers, but taking separate rooms in public. Interesting.

The spellspinner sank low in his chair as a serving girl passed, trying to spot the renegade’s companions. The first he saw was the curly-headed fighter that had taken a seat beside the drow the night before, coming in from the front door of the inn, breathing more heavily than normal. A morning run perhaps? He was flagged down at a table by a tall waif of a boy, dark haired, with ram horns and a limp left arm and strange bulge of a shoulder hidden beneath the mantle of his travelling cloak. They sat together, smiling and laughing, and split the breakfast tray the serving girl brought them.

The dwarf came down next, clapping the human on the back and tucking into what remained of the breakfast tray before sitting down. The two men shared a laugh across the table over her obnoxious eating habits.

The assassin and Ravel’s target were close behind. The human came down first, unarmored but put together for the day; he shared in the seated men’s mirth at their dwarven companion. Do’Urden was right behind him, stride a tad shorter than Ravel had seen it before, hesitant. The two men took their places at the table and called for a second tray.

He listened in for a while, the group’s conversation carrying over the sparsely populated tavern. They came up with a plan of action to deal with the problem presented by the fact that there were drow scouts expecting them, possibly wherever they went. The spellspinner remained seated even after the group he was tailing had left to go about their day, saying their good-byes to the people that knew them and promising to come again when they had the chance.

Ravel contemplated his options from his shadowy corner. Do’Urden’s group was suspicious of the plot after one attack by a pair of unskilled fighters. Perhaps a new plot was in order. One that he could find some real involvement in. Ravel gathered his things and left Stonecutter’s Solace.

He was back in Gautlgrym in short order.

-0-0-0-0-0-

 Jarlaxle woke with a jolt, nearly falling off the bed with the motion. He sat, feeling the cold sweat dry on his dark skin, coughing and gagging into the back of his hand trying to compose himself. When his breath returned, he ran a hand over his shaved head and down the back of his neck, pausing to rub some of the tension out of his neck and shoulder.

Daylight was shining brightly through the open window, signaling that it was probably closer to afternoon than morning.

He felt something light brush against the back of the hand still flat against the sheets. It traced a circular pattern across his knuckles and to his wrist, like several tiny pins not quite scratching his skin. Instead of turning, Jarlaxle calmly lifted his hand to his face.

A spider danced in front of his eyes. It turned and stamped about, confused at the sudden elevation. Gingerly Jarlaxle guided it across his skin to rest more comfortably in his palm. It wasn’t too sinister looking, not like the ones he was used to at least; a small white thing, roughly the size of a fig, with black around the joints in its legs and shining black eyes. The elf scanned the room for a web, or some hole it may have crawled out of, but found none.

With a sigh, he left it on the bed post, to scurry and scuttle about as he searched the room for his things and dressed. He had just buttoned his vest when the pins against his skin returned, on his neck this time.

“Stubborn little thing aren’t you?” The drow laughed removing the spider and placing it on the window sill.

It had managed to get to the doorknob by the time he went to leave.

“Strange…”

He picked up the arachnid with care and examined it closely as it moved nervously about his hand and wrist. It settled after several seconds, seeming content with the arrangement. Jarlaxle put a finger on the back of its thorax, pressing its body flat to his skin. Its legs flailed angrily but it didn’t bite him. Intrigued, he pressed harder, feeling the body of the creature give way after a surprisingly substantial amount of pressure.

It wasn’t a real spider, but a construct, hollow and dusty on the inside. Much to Jarlaxle’s surprise since it moved and acted as a living spider, not a spy. He collected the spieces into a small bag and tucked it away for the time being.

When he finally came out into the main room of the cabin, retrieving his hat from the back of chair, Arunika and Athrogate were sitting at a table playing cards.

“ ‘Bout time.” Athrogate grumbled drawing a card form a small deck at the center of the table, not even lifting his gaze to his companion so focused was he on the game at hand.

Arunika, however, did face him. Her welcoming smile fell when she saw his face, “Did you sleep well?” she asked, “You seem paler than when I left you.”

Jarlaxle shook his head, composed now, and smiled brightly at her. “I am fine,” he said “just a bit worn.”

She laughed and took her turn, apparently winning whatever little game they had been playing at the end of it, and pulling the small stack of coins beside the deck to her side of the table.

“Ye cheated!” Athrogate shouted. Obviously this wasn’t the first time he’d lost.

“Nonsense.”

Jarlaxle rolled his eyes and took his dwarf friend by the shoulder, “You can have your rematch later. We have business to attend to.”

“Oh?” Arunika said before the dwarf could argue, “You have only just arrived.” Her smile turned from warm and inviting to something more sultry and secretive.

He offered the lady a slight bow as he and his companion headed for the door. “I know, and it is a shame we must cut our visit short this day, but we shall return. You and I are not finished.”

“Far from it,” she agreed, and let them go.

Once they were well into the dense foliage of Neverwinter wood, Jarlaxle breathed a heavy sigh and slowed his brisk pace a bit, falling into step beside the dwarf instead of leading him along.

“Ye sick or somethin’?” the dwarf asked eyeing the elf suspiciously. “This ain’t the way to town.”

“We aren’t going to town,” Jarlaxle replied.

“Oh,” was the response, and after a brief pause was followed up by: “Where are we goin’ then?”

“I have to see a man about a spider.”

-0-0-0-0-0-

Draygo Quick rifled through a stack of papers on his desk impatiently. Where was she? He had called on her hours ago. She should have been here by now. He found himself quickly losing his nerve.

It was a stretch, but if Kimmuriel had designs on Do’Urden’s party, Draygo didn’t have much time for alternatives.

The Shifter was standing beside his desk when he looked up again.

“You rang?” she said, brow raised.

“I need you to do some reconnaissance for me,” Draygo responded, holding up a small bag of coins. “In Neverwinter.”

Shifter eyed the coins warily, “Is that not what you have apprentices for?”

“This is a delicate matter,” he explained, setting the bag on the desk and rising from his seat to pace nervously about the room, “I need to act swiftly and quietly, and apprentices are not good for that sort of thing.”

“Is this about the drow?” she asked, pouring several of the coins out of the bag and into her hand, counting them, “Do’Urden?”

“Oblodra and Do’Urden, actually,” Draygo corrected. The illusionist raised her eyes to him, surprised by the statement, “I believe that I have been lied to. Oblodra is lording the answers I seek over my head and demanding my inaction. I doubt that he intends to give me anything and I intend to take what I want.”

The woman more actively counted the coins now. “This is a lot of money. You expect me to spy on him don’t you? This Oblodra.”

“No.” Draygo said, only to be met with another confused look, “No, I want you to go out and get me the status of Ashenglade and Valindra Shadowmantle. I need to know if the place is still as empty as I remember it. I need to know the lay of the land as it is now.”

The years had changed the area around the long-empty Thayan compound. The presence of a barely-active dread ring seemed to offend the natural surroundings so that very trees and grasses bent away from it in time. That and the raging primordial trapped in the not-too-far Gauntlgrym wreaking havoc on the landscape even now with all its angry tremors, demanding to be released didn’t help matters. It seemed to be growing more powerful the longer the dark elves used it for their forge.

“I’ve been told that a fault has opened up nearby after an earthquake,” she offered, not exactly thrilled with the idea of actually going to the dreadful place, “And that the tower rests higher than it used to on the landscape. Valindra remains mad and no one is willing to go near the place, much less take it over-“

“I do not want speculation,” Quick snapped at her, “I want facts. I want a layout of the new landscape and a headcount of any undead that reside there. I want proof of Shadowmantle’s madness.”

“You have designs there, surely Oblodra will notice. And if he doesn’t others shall.”

“I don’t intend to stay there. Just go, and do as I have instructed.”

She shrugged and was gone.

The old warlock let go of the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He hadn’t expected it to be so easy to convince her. All he needed was time and a location, and he could set his trap.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Kimmuriel sat on a low lying tree branch, legs crossed and patiently waiting, a quiet mantra of meditation hovering as a whisper on the wind that ruffled his robes and hair.

“What are you doing?”

The sound of that voice made the psionicist want to stab branches into his ears.

“What do you want, Jarlaxle?” he looked down.

The other drow was standing not too far from him, arms folded, and scowl pronounced. He tapped his foot impatiently. “What,” he said, switching from the common tongue to their native one, “are you doing?”

“Meditating,” he replied, resuming his meditation.

“Outdoors? In the sunshine?” Jarlaxle was not convinced or his usual happy self.

“What ever gets me away from the insufferable Baenre family,” he replied. “Oh, but it seems I was mistaken.” Kimmuriel shot a scathing glare to his fellow mercenary leader.

Jarlaxle was done playing games, “Stay out of my head, if know what’s good for you.”

“You know how to protect yourself. It is not my fault you are vulnerable when you take off your armor, nor is it my fault if you are injured when that armor is off,” Kimmuriel shot back. A small, shimmering dagger found a home in the bark just beside his ear.

“The only reason I am not going to kill you where you sit for that kind of talk is because I respect you,” Jarlaxle said, flashing a new dagger Kimmuriel’s way, “I expect you to do the same for me.”

“Then you expect a great deal.”

The grounded elf clicked his teeth and adjusted the brim of his hat, not satisfied with that response, “You were waiting for me. Well, here I am.”

“Who said I was waiting for you?” was the reply. This time, it was not a dagger Jarlaxle threw, but a small pouch. Kimmuriel, curious, untied the pouch and pulled out a few of the contents. “This is not mine.”

Again, Jarlaxle was not convinced.

“I did not make this,” Kimmuriel objected, “I have been much too busy with your twin to be able to construct something like this. And why would I want to? It is not like your life is all that interesting anyway.”

A red eye narrowed at him, “You plot to overthrow me.”

Kimmuriel laughed, “Absurd. Why would I want to overthrow you when I can place blame on you for all of the Bregan D’aethe’s failings should the matron’s come around. If I really wanted to get rid of you, I would have thrown you into Matron Quenthel’s dungeon years ago.”

“This would not be the first time you acted against me,” the mercenary spat.

“And it would not be the last, if it were true.”

“Tell me why it isn’t. Real reasons this time, I grow tired of games and riddles.”

“Jarlaxle? Tired of games and riddles? My you must have had a rough night last night,” Kimmuriel laughed, “Are the nightmares too vivid this time? Has your conscience grown so large it chokes you in the night and makes you bitter in the day? You want reasons? Fine. I have no desire to lead your merry band of vagabonds or deal with the task of charming the women of Menzoberranzan. I am a scholar, not a dandy.” With that, he huffed and resumed his meditation. A second dagger thunked into the tree on the other side of his head, nicking his ear in its flight.

“Any more acts against me and you won’t even be that,” Jarlaxle bared his teeth in a wicked smile, “in fact, you won’t be much of anything.” He turned on his heel and left, boots clicking loudly even against the soft frost-covered grass.

Kimmuriel heard him join up with his dwarf a short while later. Relief washed over him. He had not expected Jarlaxle to get wise so quickly, but it didn’t matter. He reached up and pulled the dagger that had wounded him from the tree and pressed a dark palm to his bleeding ear.

He knew that members of the mercenary band would remain loyal to Jarlaxle in his absence, but obviously the other drow had acquired an informant. But who?

He looked at the small bag of wooden spider-bits in his lap. Whoever it was, they were more powerful than he had originally anticipated.

-0-0-0-0-0-

 Drizzt and his group left Port Llast that afternoon and made their way to Neverwinter. If it was true that Tiago had spies in their usual haunts, they would be there as well. Should this be the case, the group would be close enough to send a message a bit more poignant than a couple of dead scouts.

“We’ll run in there and kill ‘em” were Ambergris’s words as they sat around the campfire, a day away from their destination. She stood and waved her mace around for emphasis. “Just scatter those smarmy coal-skinned, spider-lovin’ bastards out of there.” She shot a guilty look at Drizzt “No offense.”

The ranger laughed, “None taken.”

Ambergris and Afafrenfere proceeded to act out the drow being run out of Gauntlgrym like children. Afafrenfere pretending to be Tiago and Ambergris chasing him swinging her mace all the while. The three remain members of the party chuckling and throwing insults all the while.

“Waggle your moustache more,” Artemis called, as Afafrenfere was feigning a scheming plot to get back into the stronghold that was the fallen log Ambergris was standing upon.

“What?” Effron leaned forward in his seat to look at the assassin.

“Tiago has a moustache,” Drizzt clarified, “It doesn’t make any sense to us either.”

Drizzt turned to Artemis, and he and the man stared at each other for a few heartbeats before the drow raised his eyebrows and pretended to waggle his non-existent moustache and they both dissolved into boyish laughter.

Effron sat beside them, watching the two men laugh trying to picture a dark elf with a moustache.

When the game had grown boring Artemis picked up a stone and lobbed it at Afafrenfere’s back, only to have the monk spin and catch it in the air. A scowl settled across Afafrenfere’s light brow.

“We should rest,” Drizzt said, sensing tension. “If we rise early we’ll be in Neverwinter by nightfall.”

Ambergris and Effron nodded in agreement, Afafrenfere and Artemis continued to stare at each other.

“Oi!” Ambergris smacked the monk at the small of his back, “Ye two can stare lovingly across a fire on yer own time.” The monk turned his angry look on her, but his face sank when she laughed at him, “Oh, don’t be pullin’ that with me, boy.” She wiggled her fingers at him.

Afafrenfere got ready for bed without further comment or complaint.

“Why ye gotta pick fights with people?” the cleric said, turning on the assassin.

Artemis just shrugged, tucked his hands behind his head, and leaned against his pack, obviously thinking himself the victor in whatever silent argument he had started with the monk. Ambergris threw her hands in the air with a derisive snort and walked off. Effron rose as well soon after.

“Can you not get along with anyone?” scolded Drizzt when they were alone.

Artemis looked at him curiously, “Have we met?”

The ranger punched him playfully in the shoulder, and pulled him to his feet demanding that the human tend to the fire while he scouted out the perimeter of the camp one last time. With a shrug, the human complied, dowsing the fire and the embers as Drizzt disappeared into the shadows.

Effron caught him on his way back in to camp, unrolling his bedroll one-handed with what seemed like minimal effort. “Drizzt?”

The ranger turned to him and, when Effron didn’t speak up further, he approached, “Yes?”

“It’s…” the young warlock struggled for words for a moment before finally settling on: “It’s good to see you like this.”

Drizzt raised a curious eyebrow, “ ‘like this?’”

“You know,” said Effron with a weak smile, “So… happy. It’s… nice. Encouraging. Makes the rest of us happy.”

The boy’s words gave Drizzt enough pause to not be able to respond. Even when Effron said good night all he could offer in return was a polite nod. His thoughts were running double-time as his body instinctively brought him to his pack. Happy? _Him? No._ Not for a long time.

A soft whistle finally caught his attention. Artemis was laying not too far away, subtly waving him over. “Are you okay?” the assassin asked when Drizzt set his things down on a smooth patch beside him.

Drizzt nodded, busying himself. He heard the other man make a thoughtful noise.

When he finally ran out of idle things to do and went to lie down, a strong hand took hold of his forearm. Drizzt silently let himself be guided down to the ground, sidled up to the man, ending up nestled in the crook of Artemis’s arm, a sharply pointed ear resting above the human’s heart. The strong beat and rush of deep, steady breath drowning out most of the natural sounds around them. Drizzt felt the hand on his back move absently a few times and smiled into the soft fabric of Artemis’s shirt. Maybe I _am_ happy, he mused, until he dies too.

It was a sobering thought.


	8. Rivvil

“Fine,” Tiago said sharply, “You shall share in the victories and the defeats. Now this better be interesting.”

While Ravel didn’t like the sound of that, he knew it was the best he was going to get. He had been arguing with Tiago over the subject of his involvement in this scheme for hours. Even going so far as to threaten the Baenre with exposure of his faerie informant to the priestesses. “Do’Urden has taken a new lover.” He said, voice low, “ _Rivvil. Jaluk rivvil._ ”

“Oh that _is_ interesting,” Tiago smiled for the first time that evening. He took Ravel by the arm and led him away, “Tell me more.” Dahlia, who had been eavesdropping from her cot, could hear no more of their conversation after that.

Drizzt Do’Urden had taken a new lover only weeks after the incident in Icewind Dale?  She had no idea what ‘ _Jaluk rivvil_ ’ could possibly mean, but was almost certain that it wasn’t a name. Dahlia sneered into the bleak darkness of her cell; perhaps he had been seeing this one on the side. Secretively and under everyone’s nose, and that was why he’d been so quick to dismiss her.

But who was this woman?

Certainly not his precious ghost.

Sometime later, Tiago returned. “It would seem,” he said, cunning smirk distorting his sharp features into a sinister mask, “that you have been honest with us. Perhaps you will be willing to take the next step.”

“And what is that?” Dahlia asked as she watched him set her things down on the floor at the foot of her cot, just out of her reach. “More spying?”

“Yes and no,” he replied, waving the key to her irons about as he spoke. Taunting her. “You _will_ be gathering information for us, but you shall be more than a simple spy. You obviously had an idea of what you hoped to accomplish with my plentiful resources when you came to me, and I’d like to hear it.”

“Oh?” she replied, eyes locked on the key. “Do you intend to back me?”

“If I like what I hear.”

-0-0-0-0-0-

Clouds were hanging grey and dreary overhead and a biting chill hung on the breeze when the five companions arrived in Neverwinter. The city lay silent before them. Few people milled about in the streets and conversations dwindled to almost nothing as they passed. The wind howled ominously between buildings without lights in their windows, kicking up dust in the streets.

“What has happened to this place?” Drizzt asked when a pair of citizens, a man and a woman, approached, “I thought Neverwinter was thriving.”

The two looked at each other, “You have obviously not been here in a long time, stranger,” the man said, “Great quake a couple years back sent the settlers running,”

 “People thought the mountain was going to explode again,” the woman added with a nod, “Didn’t want to take the chance of losing their homes and businesses a second time.”

“And yet you stay,” Entreri said.

“Got nowhere else to go,” the man shrugged, “and not much to our names. The inn still runs, if that’s what you’re here for. And the smithy. But not much else, I’m afraid.”

The companions exchanged concerned glances amongst themselves, it was Port Llast all over again. “Is there anything we might do to help this place?” Drizzt asked. He could see Artemis rolls his eyes and sigh beside him.

“Get that damn mountain to stop thunderin’ around,” the man said, more with humor than bitterness, “maybe the people will come back then, when we can tell them it is safe.”

“Or find a place to move the settlement altogether,” the woman laughed with him, “Out of the line of fire.” She snorted and collected herself, “Too bad were surrounded by treacherous forest and wasteland.”

“Wasteland?” it was Effron who spoke this time, “You mean Ashenglade?”

The man scowled, “Good to know that sprawling stain of death has a name.”

The man, Geoff, and the woman, whom he would later introduce as his wife, Anna, led the group to the inn. He told them that the wasteland of Ashenglade had grown into a more sinister place after the quake, seeming to spread out over a larger area than it had before, craggy and littered with treacherous cliffs, few dared to venture there lest they fall and never be seen again. Not that there was anything there worth venturing for. People speculated that the quake had hit harder there than in Neverwinter, and uprooted the very ground itself, but no one knew for sure.

The inn was more bustling and lively than the street had been. Anna told them that the townspeople normally collected there during the day to talk and tried not to think about their situation or struck up new business ideas that might not fail this time. They always did fail, however.

Drizzt and his companions found themselves seated at the center of the tavern listening to the plights of the people until sundown, when all but a few, returned to their homes.

“This is terrible,” Afafrenfere sighed running a hand through his hair, “I thought the city wasn’t in danger. Now no one wants to be here.”

“It is fear that keeps people away,” Drizzt replied, “Not any actual danger. If we can get Llast on its feet when it is being bombarded by minions of Umberlee, surely we can convince people to return to Neverwinter.”

“You do realize,” Artemis snorted sarcastically, “that there is an active primordial made of _fire_ not too far up the way that has nearly leveled the city once already, right? That seems like a pretty real threat to me.” Drizzt scowled at him. “What?”

The ranger sighed heavily, not being able to respond.

“Anyway,” Ambergris spoke up, “We have something a bit more pressin’ on our plate.”

The others nodded. They could help the people of Neverwinter when the threat of a drow kidnapping party was off their backs. As the group they tossed about plans. Drizzt would have to be alone, or at least would have to appear that way, if they hoped to draw out whatever Tiago had planned for them here. The group could hide in the shadows and watch.

“That is a bad idea,” Artemis said into his glass when Ambergris suggested the group tail Drizzt as he cut through the city streets.

“How do ye reckon?” she shot back.

Artemis groaned, downed his drink, and explained, “Because it will look like a trap! These aren’t petty thieves, they are dark elves. They rule the shadows, and you are going to stick out like a dwarf among halflings.”

Drizzt raised an eyebrow, “You have a better idea?”

He suggested a less obvious approach. Only a few people, perhaps just Do’Urden and an escort, and a logical route for a nightly walk. The two would separate, but not by a great distance and appearing on accident. The escort would listen and the target would be alert. The scouts would no doubt want to keep things quiet and take Do’Urden alive, so two or three able bodied and, more importantly, stealthy people should suffice.

The others listened intently.

“Ye’ve done this before,” Ambergris laughed.

Artemis gave her a curt nod. “Afafrenfere might be your best option for an escort. Given his rescue of Dahlia back in Baldur’s Gate”

“Or you.” The monk cut in, “Given your experience with the plan.” The comment earned him another nod, but no enthusiasm from the assassin.

They settled on the idea, and planned the route they would take through the city. Drizzt and his escort agreed to meet back at the inn if there was no danger, but not before. They would leave well after nightfall, when all others had long gone to bed.

-0-0-0-0-0-

It reminded her of Shadowfell, all dismal and grey. No signs of life for miles but for the movement of the shadows, and tall, looming structures stood black against the cloudy white horizon. Trees, once straight and strong, now bent in desperate escape from the death and misery. She could hear a distant groaning, but could not spot its source.  Soft, ashy soil covered the land and she would have sunk in to her ankles had she been inclined to sink at all.

The Shifter picked her way delicately across a flat section of ground on an incline between two large, flat stones, dislodged from the ground by the quake. She could see the occasional skeleton of a less-than sure footed traveler, as she passed. When she arrived at the highest point of the newly elevated landscape, a plateau housing Sylora Salm’s tower, she looked around.

The rumor about the fault hadn’t been true, it seemed. There was only a very steep cliff, surrounded by smooth stone and plush dirt. Carefully she skirted the edge, looking over. All she could see was mist below and knew that a fall like that could probably kill a man. Or at least severely injure him.

She absently thought of throwing Draygo from that cliff so that she might find a moment’s peace. She was an illusionist not some errand girl.

“You are a long way from home,” a voice called behind her.

A chill shot down her spine, and she backed away from the cliff, reluctant to turn around. “I come here on orders.” The Shifter struggled to keep the nervous shake from her voice. This was not something she had been prepared for.

“Of course you do.”

Without other options, she turned, facing the patch of blackness that housed the dread ring. A gathering of smoke rested at its center, congealing into the shape of Szass Tam. “Now what orders might those be?” he asked once his form was solid.

“Orders to investigate the status of this place’s abandonment,” the Shifter explained, seeing no need to lie. Not yet.

The lich made a thoughtful noise, “The Shadovar have designs on Ashenglade? For what purpose?”

The Shifter considered the question briefly. “Not the Shadovar,” she said, “just a single interested party, and only temporarily.” Szass Tam tilted his skeletal head curiously. “A trap.”

“For whom?”

She was not sure how to answer that. Not wanting to give up the plan or in some way anger the lich she no hope of taking on in combat should he be so angered, the Shifter replied, “Who would you like?”

A dark cackle came from the lich, “Clever girl.” He stepped out from the ring, considering her briefly before reaching behind him.

She felt the cold fingers burn into her skin before she even realized what was happening. He’d seen through her displacement illusion. His grip was deathly cold and he nearly lifted her from the ground.

“Your little tricks won’t work on me, girl.” Szass Tam said, pulling her close. He stared at her for some time, thinking for some time before settling on a decision and ordering her, “Tell your master this: he may use my compound for his trap. However, I expect recompense.” She began to ask how much when he clicked his tongue. “I want the traitor; the one who caused this failure with the betrayal of her master. She will be brought to me in Thay, alive, so that my brand of,” his icy fingers tightened, “justice, may be exacted.”

The Shifter could only nod. He released her, and she fell to the ground hacking. The woman kept her eyes trained on the ground when she asked, “Who?”

“Dahlia Sin’felle. Oh, and if your master does not deliver in a timely fashion, I will expect him to take her place.”

When the illusionist lifted her gaze, Szass Tam was gone.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Afafrenfere held out his hands at his sides. Drizzt shook his head. Nothing. They’d been around the all but abandoned city twice that night, and had nothing to show for it. Either Entreri’s plan had been a dud, which none of them wanted to believe, or something else was at play here. The runner had made it back to Tiago in time, the scouts had been a fluke, or perhaps something worse. Maybe Effron was right and Dahlia was Tiago’s informant. None of the three men standing outside the inn in Neverwinter wanted to entertain the idea, but it was looking more and more like a possibility. Even if they had no way to prove it.

The monk offered to go inside and inform the others, provided they were still awake. The other two didn’t stop him. They milled about outside, tossing ideas and strategies for handling those ideas back and forth until they got downright silly.

“That is quite possibly the stupidest thing I’ve heard since I was in Vaasa,” Entreri snorted.

They shared a laugh, but their hearts weren’t in it.

“I hope it isn’t Dahlia,” Drizzt sighed once the forced mirth died down, “she knows so much about both of us. I can’t even begin to imagine what she would do with that information. The damage she could do.” He looked squarely at Artemis, knowing that the man had given Dahlia very damning information during their midnight talks in Baldur’s Gate, “Why would she do all this?”

Artemis met his stare, “You were not the only one to slight her.”

“If you had not gone back to save me,” the elf ran a hand through his hair, “she might still be here… not exposing secrets to the enemy.”

The assassin laughed at him, a flustered, angry sound, “Oh, _this_ again? You wouldn’t have died up there even if I hadn’t gone to save you, so drop it.”

The world seemed to stand still around them. Drizzt’s stare went from sympathetic and concerned to surpised, “What makes you say that? I was bleeding, it was freezing, and surely I would have been dead in hours.”

The words had slipped just out. He hadn’t meant for them to, but he was committed to the truth, it seemed. Might as well get it over with now. “When I found you, you had been taken to a safe place, your cat was there, and your skin was warm. You could not have done those things yourself. Not with those injuries. Something- Some _one_ wanted to keep you alive.”

Surprise turned to cool, dark rage, “There’s something you aren’t telling me,” the drow said, voice even. “What is it? What happened in Icewind Dale when I was unconscious?”

The human held his hands out at his sides helplessly.

“You saw her, didn’t you?”

Artemis said nothing.

“Tell me. Did she say anything to you?” the desperate, pleading tone in his voice would have torn a lesser man’s heart in two. “How long was she there?”

“She wanted to protect you,” Artemis said quietly, “She brought supplies. Firewood. I only saw her once. She didn’t say anything to me-“

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“No. I did. Several times,” The human snapped back, matching the rising volume of the drow’s voice and his flustered tone, “But I knew you would react this way! You can’t control yours-“

 

The impact of a swift fist connecting with his face stopped Entreri short and sent him stumbling backward. His vision blurred and he could feel the blood dripping down over his mouth and chin. White hot pain pulsed in the bridge of his nose after a few seconds of numbness and disorientation. He doubled over, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Why you and not me?” The ranger was shouting, voice quaking with emotion.

“She wanted you to live, Drizzt,” Artemis grunted. “Not to die out there, not like that.”

“Better I be dead and see her upset with me than spend one more moment in this miserable place with you!” Artemis made pained noise, trying to argue with the elf, but getting nowhere in the face of his emotion, “It’s always been you, hasn’t it, Entreri? Everywhere I turn you are there to antagonize me.”

“We’re back to surnames, then?” The assassin hissed, “We are strangers now?”

Drizzt ignored him, turning away, “Why is it that you get to live when so many more deserving people have died-“

“Because I have suffered for it!” The human shouted at the ranger’s back, unable to bear this line of thinking anymore. His voice echoed off the walls of the houses that lined the empty street. “Because I spent every day of my life being told that I had no value. That I was dirt.” He laughed, a crazed mocking sound, “Maybe the gods are just cruel like that! The people with happy, productive lives with people who love them get cut short, while the miserable ones like us get to stay and be tortured while they laugh!” He shoved the ranger forward and was ready for the retaliating elbow that snapped back at him. Artemis linked his arm with Drizzt’s pulling the drow in around in a tight semicircle before throwing him to the ground.

The drow tucked himself into a roll, ready to charge the assassin once he straightened. Drizzt stopped short, however, once his feet were under him. He could see the damage he’d done: Artemis was breathing deeply. Blood, slowly dripping, covered the lower half of his face. His nose was swelling rapidly, a sharp notch that was not there before at the center of that swelling. Bruises were darkening around his eyes and his gaze was barely focused.

“You ungrateful bastard,” Artemis growled, voice distorted, “I stuck my neck out for you. I rode into a snowstorm and spent three days in a cave _for you_. There is a woman out there that knows my most closely guarded secrets doing gods know what with them and I can’t keep track of her because I chose to save _you_ and pushed her away.”

Artemis spat a bright red line of blood onto the ground with a quiet curse, “I thought- no, I _hoped_ , that maybe I would be able to find some sympathy from you. After everything we’ve been through, both of us, together and apart. After all of this _time_. If anyone had any reason to give me that sympathy I so needed should have been you. But no. You’re no better than the rest of them; the ones that beat me and told me that no matter what I did I’d never be more than some filthy-faced whoreson.” He laughed bitterly at the ranger’s stunned expression. “You are still the same man that does not know me, and yet says my life is without value. That passes judgment on my character based on my reputation, not my trials or burdens.”

He turned to leave. Drizzt raised his voice to stop him, but Artemis cut him off, “No. I would rather have no hope at all, than the false hope you have been selling me.” With that, he disappeared into the shadows before Drizzt could find the courage to him.

Dahlia watched from the shadows, grin threatening to split her face.

-0-0-0-0-0-

As much as he had grown to hate the stupid bridge, Artemis found himself wandering there. The assassin leaned heavily against the stone wyvern. He winced as the throbbing pain between his eyes picked up with his third attempt to set the break in his nose. He’d probably have to get Ambergris to heal him. He wondered if the dwarf would still be up at this hour, debating between sneaking into her room tonight and demanding the magic, or waiting until morning. The spreading pulse of pain in his head wanted to make the decision for him.

God damn Do’Urden.

He coughed, spitting blood onto the pave stones and worsening the fire in his head. Artemis leaned forward, resting his hands on his thighs trying to get the pain to go away through sheer force of will.

He knew Drizzt was going to be angry about Catti-brie’s ghost, but a sucker punch? That was surprising. Although, surprise is the point of a sucker punch in the first place. He sighed. The hope that Drizzt might have been able to move on, to put the woman behind him in time, was what had stayed the assassin’s tongue this long, but that hope now seemed unjustified. Artemis had kept his mouth shut to protect them both from this fallout. Why had he been so quick to say that, tonight? What had pushed him over that edge between self-preservation and selfless honesty? Perhaps the dark elf was a worse influence than he thought with all his rampant goodliness.

Entreri shuddered.

The assassin couldn’t blame the elf for his anger though. Not entirely. He had been content to die in Icewind Dale just to see his friends again, and Artemis not only prevented that, but had gotten to see the woman the poor drow so desperately wanted and searched for, for so long. Even if it had only been for a few moments, Entreri had gotten Do’Urden’s prize instead. That kind of turnabout was enough to send most men off the deep end, why not the drow as well?

Try as he might, Artemis could not find it in him to focus his anger at Drizzt once more. It remained focused on the world for now. A dull ache in his chest took the place of anger at the thought of the drow. Artemis groaned in spite of himself. Life was so much simpler when he could just be angry, stay that way, and call it a night.

“That looks painful,” a soft feminine voice said beside him.

Artemis groaned all the louder, “Not now, Arunika.” His voice sounded strange in his ears, like he was underwater.

“Here,” she said, slipping a hand under his chin and tilting his head to face her, “let me see.” She pressed a cloth to his face, wiping away the blood that hadn’t ended up on Entreri’s sleeve. She made a thoughtful face, examining the break and poking at certain spots that sent white dots dancing across his vision. He let her care for him, not arguing or pulling away, seemingly lost in his own thoughts, sadness in his eyes.

“Drink this,” she said, pulling a small vial from a pocket in her apron, “It’s not quick, but it’s potent. You should be right as rain in the morning, provided you don’t get punched again.”

Instinctively, the assassin brought the bottle to his nose, only to slap himself mentally a second later when he realized that the swelling had rendered his sense of smell inert. He shrugged, resolving that if it didn’t heal him, he may just die a little quicker, and downed the deep red liquid. It burned his throat and left a film in his mouth like every other healing draught he had been forced to drink in his extended lifetime. Crackling sounded in his ears as bones and cartilage began agonizingly righting themselves. Artemis returned the empty vial to Arunika.

“What happened? Who did this to you?” she asked.

“It does not concern you.”

“Do’Urden?” a sly, knowing smile danced across her face. Entreri repeated his statement, shifting his gaze back the way he’d come. “Do you plan to go back to him?” she asked. There was some concern in her voice, and a small amount of humor.

“Are you asking me or _suggesting?_ ” he asked with a grimace. A loud crack and his nose was straight once more, “Yes. I know what you did back when Do’Urden sent you to me. I’ve been mind-controlled enough times to be able to figure out when I’ve been had. I’m not an idiot.”

Arunika blinked at him a couple of times and smiled softly at him, “I am asking. Though I think I may know the answer.”

Artemis turned to face her briefly, indecision clearly written on his face even under his mask of bruises, “That makes one of us,” then returned to staring back along the road toward the inn.

The question echoed in his mind, conflicted feelings screaming to split him in half: Did he want to go back? Was it wise?

-0-0-0-0-0-

She watched him shudder and nearly stumble to the support of the inn's stone and timber wall. Her smile made her face ache as he slid down that wall, abject misery creeping on to his handsome features. You're without me for less than a season and already your group is falling apart, she thought, now let's see if your new lover comes to comfort poor, miserable you.  
  
Dahlia waited, an amused audience to Drizzt's emotional slide from rage to shock to despair, but no one came. No lover or the other members of the group or curious eavesdroppers; even the rats seemed to keep their distance from the ranger. Something in her heart cringed at the sight of the man, pulling his knees to his chest and resting his chin on his arms, defeated and not wanting to move. It cringed, but did no more. Does she not know you're out here, Dahlia mused, did no one hear you two shouting? Are they afraid to interfere in the affairs of a dark elf and a shade? Her smile returned, they must seem quite a pair by themselves to the innocent passerby. Well, now that Entreri was gone that wouldn't be much of a problem anymore.  
  
Dahlia was surprised the human had stayed so long in the defense of a wreck like Drizzt Do'Urden in the first place.  
  
The ranger was also surprised that Artemis had stayed with him for so long, had been so close and forgiving. It was so unlike Artemis to be someone’s defender, and, in his absence, Drizzt felt how badly he needed that defending. He felt stranded, without armor in enemy territory and with no clear way out. For a short time he debated following the man, but knew that cornering the assassin, even to apologize, would likely only make things worse. Weapons might be drawn next time. So there he stayed, seated on the ground trying in vain to keep his breathing even and his head straight and playing through in his mind what he would say to the group when they asked where Entreri had gone. "I punched him in the face and he stormed off" wasn't going to go over well, and Drizzt knew it. But that was better option than repeating the man’s infuriated speech in the pained and hateful tones that still rung in Drizzt’s ears like the squeal of an improperly played violin.  
  
He was pulled from his thoughts by the quiet sound of footsteps approaching. Without thinking, he tensed, physically readying himself for a fight he was not mentally prepared for. Maybe he'd be cut down quickly if he didn't act defensively, didn’t raise his weapons, and didn’t fight back.  
  
Who was he kidding?  
  
The footsteps stopped several feet away and the ranger turned to face his visitor.  
  
His eyes were still blacked and there was still quite a bit of damage, but the notch of the break had vanished and the blood had been cleaned for the most part. Artemis gave him a weak look. Almost a comforting smile, but not quite. "Arunika makes potions, apparently" he said, after a few moments of the ranger’s dumbfounded stare. His voice was still distorted and it made Drizzt's heart ache with every word.  
  
"I-" the drow stammered, rising, "I don't understand. You came back."  
  
Dahlia didn't understand either. Artemis had constantly threatened departure for much, much less, ever with one foot out the door.  
  
The assassin shrugged "'If I do not go to them, your words will hold the truth. For then my life will be of no value, less even than your own.'" He gave a coughing laugh at Drizzt's puzzled expression, "I have heard those words every time I have looked at you since… Hells, since you said them to me. They used to make my blood boil, but now...I am not sure. They spur me to action I suppose. Bring me back to your side and all that nonsense."  
  
"I..." The stunned ranger grasped for words, piecing together what he thought sounded right, "I am sorry. Sometimes I forget...that you... you are-"  
  
"A person?" The assassin offered, and the barb stung Drizzt profoundly, right in the pit of his soul. It was true.  
  
His train of thought lost by the realization, Drizzt just apologized again, "I am surprised you are so willing to forgive."  
  
"Oh, I am still very angry. Don't be fooled just because I cannot scowl at you properly without hurting myself," another stinging barb in the ranger's heart. Artemis was doing it on purpose now he was sure of it, "But, we've gotten past worse. A punch to the face is a minor crime in the grand scheme of things for us."  
  
Drizzt breathed a little easier.  
  
The assassin swept past Drizzt toward the door. He bumped into the ranger's shoulder, jostling him. "Come."  
  
The two disappeared inside the inn and Dahlia was left flabbergasted in the shadows. Entreri had just let it go? Just like that? Dahlia chastised the man for saving a ranger who had been dragging the entire group along on his stupid adventures; she had been berated, intimidated, and was left with a torn ear to show for it. Do'Urden struck him for something Artemis had no real blame in other than a lie of omission, and almost an hour later had been forgiven. How did that make sense?  
  
She punched the wall nearest to her in frustration. No one seemed immune to the ranger's bizarre charms. What did they see in him? He was distracted and naïve, leading them on stupid out-of-the-way quests and wasting everyone's time with his heroism, and yet people flocked to him like sheep.  
  
Sheep to the slaughter, she thought and felt the boiling of her rage calm a bit.

Drizzt leaned against the wall when the two men arrived at their shared room, ready to wish the man good night and then go find somewhere else to find rest. Perhaps Effron would take him in? Or Afafrenfere and Ambergris. A few heartbeats passed between them and the open door before Artemis finally prompted him, drawing Drizzt out from his contemplation:  
  
"Are you coming? I'm only setting the traps once, so you can either come in now or sleep in the hallway."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The drow translator I'm going to be using for this is : [_The Chosen of Eilistraee_](http://www.eilistraee.com/chosen/language.php) It's the only one I can find with the words that I need, since I don't own a Drow to Common dictionary. XD


	9. Quaking

He woke to the sound of footsteps and a filling tavern shaking the floorboards beneath his head. Drizzt rolled onto his side and pushed himself up, using a hand to shield his eyes from the bright light of morning coming in through the window. Artemis may have let him sleep in the room, but he was far from generous enough to let him in the bed just yet. The ranger yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, before peaking over the edge of the bed to see if the room's other occupant was up and about.

Artemis was standing at a mirror on the other side of the room. Bright steel flashed in his hand as he shaved. "'Bout time you woke up," he said when he paused to wipe off the blade.

Without a sound, Drizzt rose from the floor. He tossed the extra pillow, along with his cloak that had served as a blanket the night before, on the bed. With a few long, graceful strides he was beside the assassin, looking over Artemis's shoulder into the mirror as he shaved.

He offered the man a weak smile, unsure of what to say after the previous night's events. Only a raised dark eyebrow was his reply. A part of the ranger told him that he was overthinking things, and that time would mend the wounds. Though perhaps not as quickly as Arunika's potion has healed Entreri's face. He looked good as new in the morning light, grumpy scowl and all.

Drizzt caved to that annoying part of him that wanted the wounds mended faster; that wanted the previous night to have not happened at all. When the human's blade wasn't in direct contact with skin, Drizzt rested his head against Artemis's bare shoulder; warm cheek against the air-cooled skin, puffs of breath ruffling the dark hair at the nape of the man’s neck.

Artemis stiffened, but didn't pull away or attack as Drizzt had initially anticipated. The drow took that as an invitation. Dark, willowy arms wrapped around the human in a loose embrace.

The human ran a hand through the locks of white hair that rested against his skin. Artemis, gently untangling the snowy strands, smirked to himself. He found a small knot in one of the locks and, instead of pulling it apart, he used it as an excuse to wind the strands around his finger. He pulled them taut for only a second before slicing them with one quick flick of his blade.

Drizzt pulled away, surprised. "What?" He saw the short twist of white around the man's finger and sighed, "You are still angry."

"Oh yeah," Artemis replied, rubbing his fingers together so the hairs cascaded to the floor individually before returning to his morning routine.

The ranger surrendered, taking a seat on the bed far away from the man and his razor. “I apologize,” he said, eyes following the pattern in the wood grain of the floorboards, “That was… forward.” Drizzt heard the assassin make a thoughtful noise, “I suppose I still worry that you will come to your senses and leave me. “

Artemis barely raised his gaze, checking his work before returning to his pack to dress and prepare for the day. “The others are probably waiting for us already,” he said after several tense moments, just as he was headed for the door.

Drizzt took a deep breath and plodded after him into the tavern.

“Last to bed, last to rise, I swear,” Afafrenfere joked when the two finally made it to the group, taking the two empty seats at the table.

“So,” Effron said after a still-eating Ambergris hit him on shoulder. “What is the plan for today? Afafrenfere told us you guys found nothing last night.”

Drizzt nodded, “I’m not sure what to do now.”

“We should storm the dungeon,” Ambergris snorted and earned herself a scathing look from Effron and groans from the other members of her party.

“Let us also find hornets’ nest and beat it with a stick,” Entreri shot back. “Both are equally good ideas.”

Ambergris had a witty retort on her tongue when a tremor shook the tavern. “What-“it picked up rapidly, knocking the dwarf from her chair and causing other patrons to raise their voices in curious alarm. A common outcry among them being, “It’s happening again!”

The people’s panic was only intensified when the inn’s door flew open and several voices cried, “Smoke and ash on the mountain!”

The companions cast a concerned glance among themselves for barely a second before dashing for the door, ground threatening to throw them from their feet with every step.  Drizzt, Artemis, and Afafrenfere skidded to a stop outside the door with near perfect precision only for the monk to get bowled over by Ambergris a second later. Effron collided heavily with Artemis but both managed to keep their footing.

Pavestones rattled to freedom at their feet. Ash and smoke clouded their vision as they collectively looked skyward toward the mountain, the vibration distorting the view over the trees.  People, scrambling out of their houses, seeking shelter and safety somewhere, anywhere, but finding none, rushed past them. Drizzt tried to collect his thoughts and come up with the plan, but the chaos around him kept jerking him back into stark, raving reality. The thought of the mountain exploding again, of all these people…

“It isn’t going to explode,” Artemis shouted over the noise, drawing all eyes to him, “It was almost immediate last time. If the primordial was free again we’d already see fire.”

But the ground was still shaking and people were still terrified. Buildings swayed dangerously.

“What then?” Drizzt asked back, desperate with ideas failing him. This wasn’t what he was used to. Wide-spread imminent danger, not some horde of monsters that could be met with blades. His chest tightened, and he looked expectantly at the assassin.

“We collect the people in the square,” Afafrenfere said, “Away from the buildings. These structures won’t hold under this kind of stress.”

As if on cue, a tall building a few streets over crumbled as though it were made of cards, screams erupted, shrill and horrified, coupled with groans of pain and calls for help.

“We’ll collect the people,” Drizzt said trying to sound authoritative. An affirmative nod from Artemis bolstered his resolve. “You two,” he pointed to Ambergris and Afafrenfere, “tend to the injured.”

“C’mon, boy,” Ambergris grunted pulling the monk along behind her as she blazed a trail to the ruined building.

Effron, leaning against the inn’s doorframe trying to keep his balance, piped up, “What should I do?”

“Get to the square,” Drizzt said, “Try to keep the people calm, and keep them there.”

“Me?” Effron laughed.

Artemis raised an eyebrow, “Can’t you shadow-step or whatever that weird blinking thing you do is called? Won’t that get you to the square?”

“That’s not what I was talking about,” was the warlock’s deadpan reply.

Drizzt cut between them, “You’re the only one we have available for the task, Effron. Get to it.” He took Artemis by the arm and tugged him along, “Let’s go.” The two men turned and dashed up the street, shouting for people to meet in the square and to move quickly.

Effron stood in the doorway watching them go. How in the hells was he supposed to keep people calm? His thoughts jumbled nervously and his heart thudded in his chest. How does one keep a crowd of panicked people pulled from their homes calm in the middle of an earthquake? Was that even a possible option? He saw a second building topple and watched cracks form in the stones of the street. With an exasperated groan the warlock made his way to the growing crowd a few streets over.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Ambergris came in like charging rhinoceros, wild swings of her mace blasting away beams of timber and piles of rubble. Afafrenfere trailed behind her, collecting the injured and tending to what he could.

“What’s it look like?” the dwarf called when she had reached the other side.

The monk scowled at her and her callous destruction, wondering if she even cared if she knocked over what little still stood and crushed the life out of someone. “Two need healing. None dead that I can see.”

“Good!” She picked her way back over the rubble with all the grace of a drunken steer. Her eyes on the street, watching the second building fall, “Damnation!”

Afafrenfere followed her line of sight and shouted a similar curse. “I’ll meet you there,” he said, leaving the priest to heal the wounded. Ambergris watched him dance across the rattling stones with no effort at all. Graceful little bastard. She snorted, cracked her knuckles, and set to healing.

The monk was significantly less barbaric in his approach to the second building; enlisting the townspeople to help him move boards and debris to free the trapped and injured, but not getting much from the few who could keep their feet under them. More were injured this time. The family was still in their home when it fell. Afafrenfere slid on patch of blood and feared the worst.

Luckily no one was dead and the cleric was on her way.

When everyone was healed, the monk and the priest led them to the square, only to be turned around when a third building fell. It was closely followed by a fourth.

Ambergris went one way, Afafrenfere the other, both of the former mercenaries trailing ribbons of very colorful curses in their wake.

-0-0-0-0-0-

The warlock struggled to keep the people in the square, magically blinking from one side to the other, rounding them in like cattle.

This was ridiculous.

He whistled, as loud and as high as he could, but still no reaction from the crowd. With a sigh, Effron shouted, waving his good arm, but still to no avail.

“Keep them calm,” Do’Urden had said, “keep them there.” Easier said than done it seemed.

Effron shouted again, but instead of a harsh word, a bestial roar erupted from him. Several surprised and even horrified looks turned on him. The people thinking that they now had some huge monster to deal with alongside the quaking earth, only to be confused upon seeing the warlock’s frail form staring, just as shocked as they were, back at them.

A few seconds and Effron collected himself. “Remain calm,” he shouted, “This is the safest place for you to be. Trust us.”

The people milled about, afraid to defy the small, twisted creature with his soul-chilling roar. New people came; some freshly healed and still bloodied, asking panicked questions only to be shushed.

Effron stepped back, trying to stay calm in the face of the terrified and expectant looks on him, but felt himself slowly crack under the weight. Squaring his feet, he scanned the crowd. Some people were standing, but most had fallen and remained seated on the ground. Men positioned themselves between the warlock and their families, still convinced on some level that he was a monster. Women hugged their children close to their chests, protecting them from the ash that floated down like snow around them. Anyone whose eyes weren’t trained on Effron watched the mountain, only to look back at him a second later, stricken.

“The mountain isn’t going to explode,” he told them.

“You don’t know that,” one said back.

“No,” Effron replied, “I do. I know what caused it to explode the first time. I can assure you it won’t happen again.”

“I don’t believe you,” another shouted, a woman surrounded by small children.

The warlock sighed, “You don’t have to. Soon, you will see for yourselves.”

That seemed to placate them somewhat, which was a close to calm as Effron supposed he would get.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Artemis had been right behind him; trailing by a few houses on the other side of the street, knocking on doors and shouting along with the ranger. But when Drizzt turned around, the assassin was gone.

“Where-” his eyes darted across the shadows of doorways left open to the alleys between swaying and pitching buildings. They were just about to circle back, where could the man have disappeared to?

Drizzt retraced his steps, expecting to see the human just around any corner, but came up empty every time. Was Artemis ahead of him? Already turned back, or—

A young boy was standing in the street just outside a rickety house. He couldn’t have been more than ten years old, trying to keep his feet square and his legs steady. Drizzt could hear the boy’s whimpers from where he stood at the end of the street as his eyes darted from the boy to the building.

It had been a business, long closed and in disrepair. Cracks in the doorframe and foundation had probably been there before the tremors. It was larger than a simple shop, having a second floor that probably was probably an apartment that had been the boy’s home.

“Hey,” Drizzt called, dashing up and trying to shuffle the boy away, “what are you doing? It isn’t safe here.”

“No,” the boy cried trying to fight the stronger man, “My ma- She’s still in there! They haven’t come out yet.”

_They?_

Drizzt softened a bit, trying to soothe the child who was so desperately afraid for his mother, she was probably all he had, “Go to the square,” he instructed gently, “go now.”

“But-“ the boy started to argue but the drow continued to push him away with increasing force. They were just outside the shadow of the building when its rotting beams finally gave way under the stress. The child fell to pieces in his arms, sobbing and screaming for his mother over the rumble of the earthquake, and louder still when the rumbling had stopped and the earth was still beneath them once more.

Drizzt watched the rubble for what felt like ages, his heart in his throat. Nothing moved. What snapped him from his trance was a concerned dwarf rushing up beside him, faster and with more coordination than when they had parted barely half an hour ago.

“Anyone in there?” Ambergris panted. Drizzt couldn’t find the voice to answer. The boy crying for his mother was answer enough, though and she set to work.

The dwarf dashed to the pile of house on the edge of the street, not a beat’s hesitation came to her before taking out her mace and breaking boards with wild abandon. The ranger just looked on, holding the boy back from running in after Ambergris and potentially finding himself in the line of Skullcrusher’s fire.

_They._ If only the boy’s mother was trapped why he use the word ‘they’? A fog settled behind Drizzt’s eyes.

No.

Artemis wasn’t that type of person; he wouldn’t put himself in danger like that. No. Someone else must have gone in and tried to help her.

But where _was_ Artemis? The man had only been a few steps behind him.

A particularly nasty crack of Ambergris’s mace against timber was met with a loud shout. “Hey- Whoa! Watch where you’re swinging that thing. You’ll kill someone!”

It was Artemis.

Shaking splinters and dust from his hair and cloak and pushing himself up to stand, Artemis eyed the dwarf with no small measure of disdain. He stumbled a bit, as if his legs were unsure beneath him, but quickly righted himself.

“Ye injured?” The dwarf snorted, plowing through more boards.

“I’ll live,” he replied, picking his way back out to the street. “It would seem the worst is over,” he sighed when he saw Drizzt waiting with the boy.

The ranger’s legs almost gave out beneath him and all could do was nod and breathe. The child slipped from his grip and darted to Artemis, grabbing the assassin by his dusty sleeves, hysterically demanding answers.

Drizzt watched the small man talk to the boy, only to have the child go from hysterical to belligerent, attempting to kick the assassin in the shin, all while shouting “You said you’d help her!” before running off down an alley and out of sight. Artemis shook his head with a sigh, looking to Ambergris briefly, and sharing a sad look with the dwarf.

“What-“ Drizzt tried to ask when Artemis finally approached him. That assassin just shook his head. He was paler than normal, his breathing forced to be deep and slow. The building crumbling around him no doubt must have shaken him. The ranger tried to reach out to him, but a call from Ambergris made him hesitate.

“I’ll meet you two with the others,” Artemis said, taking off at a jog toward the city square.

Ambergris called for Drizzt again and he went to her.

-0-0-0-0-0-

“Does this happen often?” Kimmuriel asked his female companions as they made their way back to the compound. “It would make this place significantly less profitable.”

Berellip made a disapproving noise and Saribel smacked her on the shoulder. “No,” Saribel said, “It doesn’t. And when it does, we are prepared. Our profits and your investments are not in danger.”

“I would certainly hope not,” The psionicist mused, searching the walls for cracks, “And I would certainly hope that you and your people are better at keeping yourselves hidden than your constructs are.”

Berellip nearly growled at him this time, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Kimmuriel pulled the small velvet pouch from a spot on his belt, pulled the knot loose, and dumped its contents on the floor. White shards of wooden spider littered the stones at their feet. “What it means is he, or one of his little friends, found your spy.”

The priestess stared at the shards, fury creasing her brow, “Preposterous.”

Saribel seemed more amused than angry, “What kind of company does this target of yours keep that can detect magic so minute?”

“That does not concern you right now,” he replied, “What does concern you-“

“Is that you still need our business,” she interrupted, getting both Berellip and Kimmuriel’s attention. “This target is as great to you as Do’Urden is to Tiago it seems. Very well,” She reached into the small case at her back, pulling out a tiny brown spider, similar to the white one in pieces on the stone, in her delicately cupped hands. “But I’m upping the price.”

“You can’t be serious!” Berellip hissed at her.

Saribel only clicked her tongue at the other priestess, “So, Oblodra, what is it, price and a half for a new spider or take your business elsewhere?”

Kimmuriel thought about the offer for several moments, finding himself in an interesting predicament. Saribel’s spider had already failed him once; if it failed him again Jarlaxle may not be so forgiving. Absently he brought a hand to the fresh notch in his ear, not wanting to relive that day in the tree, but seeing no other options when tailing a man as astute as the mercenary leader on the surface. He ground his teeth. Someone had to have tipped him off last time, but whom? Not that insufferable dwarf the drow carried on his hip; that was for sure. If he could find out whom the contact was…

“Give me two,” he said finally, smirk inching its way on to his face.

Saribel returned his knowing expression. Berellip rolled her eyes, and when the mercenary departed with his spies, she turned to her sister, “What was that about?”

“There is a magic more powerful than our own at play here,” Saribel replied, “and I know we can’t trust Ravel to keep us secure.”

“He’s thrown in with the Baenre.” The other priestess growled when the implication of Saribel’s words struck her, “How long have you known?”

Saribel turned to her, “That doesn’t matter. What we need to do right now is keep Gauntlgrym safe for Matron Zeerith. It will not only protect our standing, but hers as well, should Ravel and Tiago fall to Do’Urden’s blades.” She smiled, “We throw in with the mercenaries, we are sure to come out on top.”

Berellip did not share her sister’s confidence, “Are you sure? What if Kimmuriel’s ‘target’ comes back for us?”

“There is a reason, sister,” she said, grin growing all the wider, “that I do not know his name.”

-0-0-0-0-0-

The rest of the day progressed as a blur of worry, settling dust, and damage control. They had won the day in the end: only one casualty, a few major injuries, a couple broken bones, and dozens of cuts and bruises all around seemed minor compared to the devastation the last great earthquake had caused; which was due, in no small part, to there being fewer people in the city to be injured. This knowledge really didn’t calm anyone though. Parents cradled terrified children and everyone seemed to be trying to catch their breath well into the evening.

People whose homes stood in ruins, or did not stand at all, collected in the inn. With so many buildings damaged beyond living condition, and the few that fell completely being so largely populated the establishment found itself busier than it had been in ages. Soon the rooms were filled and people gathered on the floor of the tavern, too exhausted to turn elsewhere, or too shaken to leave.

The five companions turned in early; the morning’s exertions and the afternoon’s chaos working them into exhaustion. Artemis was the first to leave the group. Effron opted to bunk with Ambergris and Afafrenfere, offering his room to a small family attempting to sleep in the hallway. His nobility was rewarded with approving looks from his teammates and encouraging praise from Drizzt, but he would come to regret the decision around midnight when Ambergris’s snoring picked up, and after a few hours he would wake Afafrenfere and force the monk to suffer the sleepless night with him since he was the one that assured Effron “it wasn’t so bad” and he’d “hardly notice.” Drizzt, ever fretting over the people, was the last to resign to his room just after nightfall.

The ranger tried to enter the room as silently as possible at first, only to forsake that effort when he noticed the assassin was still awake. He was sitting on the bed, facing the window, picking splinters out of the fabric of his shirt. Freshly cleaned cuts and darkening bruises were stark patches of color against his grey skin.

“Are you sure you aren’t injured?” Drizzt asked before he could think better of it, “Perhaps you should let Ambergris-“

“I’m fine, Do’Urden. Really,” but his voice didn’t sound so certain.

Instinctively Drizzt sat on the bed behind the man, reaching to place a comforting hand on his shoulder, only to have the human pull away before he even made contact. Concern tugged at Drizzt’s heart, “The building came down, Artemis,” he said, hoping he knew the source of the human’s behavior, “You couldn’t have saved her.”

“I couldn’t have saved her,” Artemis corrected, turning his head to face the ranger, “because she was already dead.”

“What?”

“She was ill.” He explained, idly picking at splinters, but no longer doing anything productive with the motion, and staring at them to avoid eye-contact with his roommate, “It was why she didn’t come out with her boy, or so he said. She was ill and could barely stand on her own and needed help, but she was too heavy for him to carry.” Drizzt tried to say something comforting, but Artemis wouldn’t let him get the words in, “I don’t know what I expected to see, they were obviously poor, but-“ he changed topics hastily, as though he had crossed a line he hadn’t intended to, “She was already dead when I got there. Even if she had been alive it wouldn’t have been for more than a few days. Better the boy think his mother killed by a force of nature than…”

Not knowing what else to do, or say, Drizzt sidled up closer to the man. He rested his chin on Artemis’s shoulder and pulled him into a loose hug. When the human didn’t pull away, Drizzt held him tighter. “You’ve seen it before,” he guessed.

The assassin’s expression remained neutral, eyes locked on a small group of birds collected on the adjacent roof. “Yes,” he said, after several deep breaths. He relaxed a bit against the drow, but anxious tension still tightened his jaw, “A similar illness killed my mother.”

Drizzt struggled for words for a moment before finally settling on, “You watched her die.”

Artemis shook his head, leaning more and more heavily against the ranger with every confession, “No, I watched her suffer. She sold me to slavers before she died.”

“A wise decision then,” Drizzt mused, not intending to say the words aloud. He felt Artemis tense up again, and amended the statement, “I assume it was that or leave you alone in the world to die.”

“A better alternative to slavery,” the human sneered.

Drizzt scoffed and leaned in closer to the assassin, “I doubt that,” his voice was hushed in the man’s ear, “For had it not been for her choices, you would not be here today.” Artemis shrugged and Drizzt added, “How often do you think of her? If the decision to send her son away was a difficult one. If it was a sacrifice made because the alternative seemed too awful for her to bear in the next life.”

Artemis turned a cold eye to him, “You say this as if you knew her.”

“Someone not unlike her perhaps,” he replied with a weak laugh, “someone willing to make great and painful sacrifices if only for the hope of a better future for his son, but sending him only into hardship. If only for a time.”

For a moment a spark of argument lit Entreri’s eyes, but the spark did not catch and the human settled back against him, pacified.

They stayed like that for some time; Artemis leaning heavily against Drizzt in a one-sided embrace, watching the birds fly by and the night deepen. When enough time had passed that the fog of emotion had cleared, Drizzt spoke again, “It would seem I’ve been forgiven.”

“For now,” Entreri conceded, “but tread lightly.”

The drow laughed, pressing a kiss to the man’s bare shoulder without thinking twice. “Fair enough,” he whispered, just as the strangeness of the situation started to sink in. Drizzt tried to shake it, but it remained, whispering reminders of the assassin’s past crimes in his ear and tugging at his thoughts. He countered that with the relief he felt that the man was still alive after losing him in a falling building. But still, the nagging thought remained.

“Something wrong?” Artemis asked.

“No,” Drizzt replied, a bit too quickly, “Why?”

Artemis pointed to where Drizzt’s arms were wrapped around his torso, “So you’re trying to squeeze me to death on purpose? And here I thought we were on better terms.”

Immediately, Drizzt released him, settling into a spot beside the man on the edge of the bed, and all the while sputtering an apology. Artemis just laughed at the flustered elf and clapped him on the shoulder, seeming to be in better spirits. “Perhaps-“

The ranger leaned in close, settling back against the human startling him into silence, returning to the loose embrace that he had started off with. Artemis, in a better position to return the gesture, did so with slight hesitation. “I’ll be fine,” Drizzt said quietly.

“Of course you will.”

Drizzt wasn’t sure when the kiss started or who initiated it, but wasn’t about to argue with the turn of events. A warm smile crept up on him as the world grew hazy and he was being gently pushed backwards against the soft blankets. They pulled apart slowly, barely breathing and neither wanting any space between them.

 Artemis settled against him, shifting just enough to find a comfortable position between the ranger’s legs. A hesitant mouth found the most sensitive spots on Drizzt’s neck from memory, eliciting soft sounds of encouragement in the otherwise quiet room. A calloused hand snaked its way up his silk shirt, tracing scars and muscle all the way around his side, to settle between his back and the bed, and pull him in closer.

It would have been alarming, how new this all felt. Given what had happened in Port Llast, Drizzt had expected to be at least a little familiar with the assassin’s tactics, but found the man acting strangely different. No pauses, no pulling away, no hungry and efficient shedding of clothing this time around, but a protective closeness that seemed almost uncharacteristic of Artemis. Almost.

Every encounter with the man was different, adapting to a location, a situation, a context. Somewhere in the back of his mind Drizzt remembered his encounters with Dahlia, all lurid and repetitive in their simplicity. But Artemis… Artemis was interesting.

He’d slipped his shirt over his head and felt the assassin’s roughly stubbled face nuzzle his neck when he finally found his voice again, “So, this means that Llast…”

“Wasn’t a mistake,” Entreri finished, childishly refusing to leave his spot atop his bedmate to address him. “It appears that way.”

Drizzt craned his neck in an attempt to look at the man, and got a playful bite on the neck for his efforts. When the drow feigned a struggle that one bite turned to several, tracing a steady path along his jaw, before finally stopping with a nip at his lower lip. Drizzt pushed him away, hooking his legs with the other man’s to keep him from going too far.

“What are we doing?” he had to know. If Port Llast hadn’t been a mistake, what was happening to them? Even if it killed this moment and any of the ones that would have followed it. He needed an answer.

Artemis propped himself up with one arm, using the other to draw swirling patterns in the ebony skin beneath him as he thought. He laughed softly when a twitch escaped the disciplined ranger. After more than a dozen tense heartbeats he answered with a shrug and a smirk, “I guess we’re lovers now.”

“Is it really that simple?”

The assassin gradually bent his arm, settling his weight back against Drizzt, “I suppose it can be,” and pulled him in for another slow, deep kiss.

It wasn’t long before what little clothing separated them had been discarded and they were tangled in each other just as they had been in that port city all those days ago. All warmth and still some awkwardness on Drizzt’s part which earned him some mocking laughs and barbs about inexperience from the assassin this time around. It was better than the first time, and Drizzt was determined now that it would not be the last.

When he collapsed against the linen after finding the one cool spot on the bed, the human’s breath still fast against his back, punctuated with the occasional nip or kiss, Drizzt felt it again, that nagging pull on his senses, a positive one this time. Contentment. He slept easy that night to a warm weight on his back, and snoring at his shoulder.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Dahlia watched the whole scene unfold from her spot on the adjacent roof. Only once she was safely on the ground on the opposite side of the building did her jaw unclench, popping loudly with the effort and leaving her teeth aching. Not only did Drizzt leave her for a _man_ , he left her for _Entreri_.

So that’s what had happened. It explained so much. Why Drizzt was so ready to reject her. Why Artemis resisted her advances. Why the man went back for Drizzt even though it was clear she wanted him dead. What happened to them being enemies? Drizzt had told her some of their history when he’d been trying to get her to warm up to the shade. Enemies were supposed to hate each other, not share soothing embraces and steal kisses in the night.

She punched a nearby wall and felt the wood splinter around her knuckles, unable to take the abuse after the day’s strain.

How dare they!

They had used her as a cover for their torrid little relationship! No doubt sneaking around at night when no one else was awake. She had thought herself clever for going to Artemis that night in Baldur’s Gate, but perhaps he had gotten that far-away room on purpose. To force them to be apart for a time, so no one would suspect him and the drow.

It was a ridiculous thought, but Dahlia didn’t see it that way.

Smoke was practically coming out of her ears when she returned to Gauntlgrym to give Tiago her report.

“Are you trying to get us all killed!” Ravel was shouting at the Baenre, obviously using much of his willpower to avoid strangling the other drow. “You foolish, arrogant-“

Dahlia changed her course from Tiago to the Xorlarrin. He had known that Entreri was Drizzt Do’Urden’s new lover and had told her nothing about it, instead forcing her to waste valuable time finding out for herself. Luckily for her, Ravel was so wrapped up in harassing Tiago, he didn’t see her first punch coming until it hit him. “I am not here to waste my time like some grunt,” she shouted, gearing up to throw another, but thinking better of it.

Tiago was cackling uproariously when Ravel looked to him for help. Tears were welling in his eyes with the hilarity.

“How dare you!” Ravel shouted when he realized Tiago would be of no help to him.

“I had no reason to go out there,” Dahlia over powered him with the volume of her voice, “you could have just told me who the lover was, I wasted two days that could have been spent setting up the next part of the plan but you fed me misinformation!”

Tiago finally found his voice amidst his laughter, “Welcome to the Underworld, sweetheart.” He chided her.

“Well,” Ravel sputtered, finally clamoring to his feet, “You know now don’t you? What do you plan to do with this?”

“ _I will have Entreri’s head on a spike!”_ she screamed, pulling the spellspinner close enough to her face that he could feel her breath when she shouted. Dahlia pushed him away roughly, knocking the startled elf back to the ground. Tiago’s laughter started anew. “You,” Sshe growled, turning her attention to the Baenre, “We start the next part of our plan at first light. I will be delayed no longer.”

“And neither shall I,” Tiago replied with a bow and watched her stomp away.

Ravel finally picked himself off of the floor, again, once the raging elf had left. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“She’s a fiery one, I’ll give you that,” the Baenre admitted with a shrug. “But her plan is cheap and sound, so we’ll go through with it.”

“And what’s this ‘next part’?”

Tiago took the Xorlarrin by the shoulders and shook him, “Back your bags, Ravel, we’re going topside.”

Confused, Ravel asked “Where, specifically?” only to regret the question moments later.

Ashenglade.


	10. Warning Shots

He was pacing about his private chamber, fuming. Two days and she still hadn’t reported back. Had it been unwise to send her? Was she injured? Killed? Captured?

Unlikely, he thought, she’s probably turned me in to one of the other lords. No doubt an army is on its way to my keep right now. Draygo stopped pacing and listened. No thunderous march of soldiers signaled and invasion of his home. He sighed, quiet assassins then. No surprises there.

He heard the door to his chamber open and shut, and his concern turned to fury. The warlock whirled about in his spot, finally settling on the Shifter’s projected image leaning against his desk. “Where have you been?” he shouted, unable to control himself; almost immediately, he stiffened, remembering the secrecy he was trying to maintain. Draygo took a deep, calming breath, and forced himself to be calm. “What have you found?”

“There have been complications,” Shifter replied, her voice low and hoarse. She rubbed a dark grey patch on her neck with a wince, “Ashenglade remains empty, but Szass Tam keeps a foot in the door.”

Quick’s fury came back with a vengeance. His fears realized. “What-“

“However,” the illusionist raised her scratchy voice above his, bringing her hands up in an attempt to reign him in, “He is willing to make special provision for us.”

The warlock deflated, “You spoke to him?” She nodded, flashing the bruise on her neck. “What is his price?” Draygo asked, though he knew it would be much too high for him to pay. Such were the prices of the Thayans.

“He wants the twisted one’s mother,” she said, “Dahlia Sin’felle. He said he wanted to bring her to justice.” They both cringed, knowing what Thay’s “justice” entailed.

“So he wants her alive.” The illusionist nodded again. Draygo tapped foot thoughtfully. This was surprisingly pleasant. In normal circumstances and agent of Thay, much less someone of Szass Tam’s power and influence would never give the Shadovar the time of day, much less a pass into their territory without a heavy price in exchange. There had to be some sort of catch. “He wants to control the operation then? Or a spy? Something? What else did you get from him?” he asked.

The Shifter narrowed her eyes, annoyed that he would assume that she “got” anything that was not readily given; as if she had been able to drill the lich about the details of his demand, “I didn’t have the chance to ask,” she deadpanned at him, but, after a moment’s thought, she added “It didn’t seem that way. I believe all he wants is the prize and how that comes about is irrelevant to him.”

“How long do we have?” Quick snapped before the woman had finished speaking. There had to be a catch to this. Some minute detail he had to abide by that would throw off all of his plans and leave him at the lich’s mercy should he fail to do so.

“He did not say.”

Draygo resumed his pacing. No answers from Kimmuriel, Clavus Dun traitors running amok, his own apprentice fraternizing with the enemy like he was something to be feared, and now Szass Tam sticking a hand in Quick’s designs on Ashenglade, seemingly without wanting very much in return. No. He was being played, and from all sides it would seem. Who was to say the illusionist wasn’t lying to him about the details and was prepared to leave him to wither in the shadows when it became convenient for her?

“We need an alternative plan,” he said carefully, “Ashenglade is too-“

“I already have an idea,” Shifter piped up, cutting Draygo off and earning a small amount of revenge for his rudeness to her. He cast a scornful glance at her, but she paid him little mind, “I stayed in Neverwinter long enough to garner some very useful information. With it, I’ve formulating a plan that I am willing to pass on to you. Unless, of course, you are too stubborn and suspicious to listen.”

Had he not needed an idea so quickly, Draygo would have lashed out at the woman for the barb. As it was, Quick only scowled at her harder and, with a disgruntled sigh, asked, “What do you propose?”

“Something that will make everyone happy,” she said with a smile and, by the time she had finished explaining her plan, the warlock was smiling also.

This might just work.

-0-0-0-0-0-

_Tap. Tap, tap. Tap-tap. Tap._

She watched the tiny brown arachnid jitter and dance to the rhythm she tapped on the table. It struggled a moment, seizing and trying to fall down in an attempt to not perform her silly dance routine, but she wouldn’t let it.

_Tap. Tap, tap. Tap-tap. Tap._

She danced the little thing right into a small black box, “Persistent little twit, aren’t you?” she chuckled quietly.

“What?”

Arunika jerked to attention at the sound of the drow’s voice behind her. She hadn’t even sensed his approach.

Such an interesting one, this Jarlaxle.

“Nothing,” she sighed, feigning boredom and tucking the box away safely for another time, “do you need something?”

A white eyebrow arched curiously. “No,” he smiled, casting a glance at his still-sleeping companion. The sun had not yet risen, much less the obnoxiously snoring dwarf, “but I would appreciate some company.”

“Oh?” Arunika gave him a lurid smile and rose from her seat, leaning against the table as she spoke to him. “And what kind of company would that be?”

His smile shifted from friendly to wicked. “Depends on what’s available really.”

She laughed, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear as she went to him. Arunika wrapped her arms around the drow, plucking his hat from his head and tossing on the table. He laughed at her forwardness, but kept his eyes locked on the article until it landed safely.

“The hat means a great deal to you,” she observed.

“The hat is part of who I am.”

“I have never heard of a man so attached to his headwear.”

They shared a laugh, “Have you still been observing Entreri?” Jarlaxle asked, shifting to business a they half –heartedly danced across the room.

“A bit. He is fine, and I doubt he would appreciate your worry.”

The drow made a thoughtful noise. “But something is amiss,” he said. When she asked what he meant he pulled away, “You go missing and leave us in your home all day, and an earthquake hits. It is easier to be suspicious than to be trusting.”

“The earthquake was a result of the primordial, I had nothing to do with it,” Arunika sighed, trying to sound offended. “I was nowhere near Gauntlgrym.”

“Then where were you?” Suddenly there was less humor in his voice. He suspected her of something, but of what, Arunika had little clue. Perhaps it had something to do with the spiders that had so rudely decided to invade her home.

“Ashenglade,” she said with a sly quirk of her eyebrow, “I think the drow are expanding to the surface.”

Jarlaxle pulled away entirely, sidestepping past her to retrieve his hat. “You saw a party of scouts?” his expression was all seriousness, the light-hearted moment snuffed out entirely.

Arunika shrugged, unsure why he would react in such a way, “If that’s what you’d call it. One in purple appeared to be a mage with a raven familiar, the other a fighter with the most ridiculous moustache led a small group there last night.” Jarlaxle was halfway out the door when she asked, “Wait, where are you going?”

“I’ll be back,” was all he said.

“Wait!” the succubus called after him gesturing to the dwarf sleeping on her floor “Take him with you!”

But he was already gone. Arunika folded her arms across her chest and looked to the dwarf on the floor. Jarlaxle knew what these had planned in Ashenglade, or at least had some idea and it concerned him. Perhaps it would do her well to do a bit more snooping of her own. She never was fond of someone having more information than her, especially if that someone was a man.

The dwarf sputtered and stirred at her feet and she wanted to kick him in frustration.

So she did. He just rolled over.

-0-0-0-0-0-

“Ye two look terrible,” Ambergris laughed when she sat up on her bed and swathe two young men sitting across the room, faces pale, dark circles under their hooded eyes.

“I wonder why,” Effron shouted looking squarely at Afafrenfere, who could only give him a weak smile in response.

The three of them stretched, bickered, and dressed for the day, all knowing that helping what few people remained in Neverwinter cope with the damage of the quake was the plan for the day. They both told Effron about the building that fell on Artemis when the twisted boy told them he’d missed it. Effron replied by telling them about how he scared most of the townspeople into a calm by roaring at them.

“Can you do it again?” Afafrenfere asked as they were headed out, genuinely curious as to what type of roar would come from someone as scrawny as Effron. He imagined it was something like a puppy barking.

Effron shrugged and took a deep breath only to be immediately shushed by the dwarf standing in the open doorway. Both men cast her a confused glance and she just pointed up the hall, motioning for them to stay quiet and just look.

Do’Urden and Entreri were standing in the hallway, conversing about something the trio could not hear. Both were dressed for the day, but still tousled by sleep and bright, friendly smiles lit up their faces. Drizzt put a hand on the human’s shoulder, closer to his chest than his arm, and didn’t even have to straighten his elbow they were so close. Entreri didn’t back away, rebuff the touch, or even change his expression as they wrapped up whatever part of their conversation had required privacy before turning to face the loud and crowded space that was the ground floor.

“Awww,” Ambergris sighed under her breath as they walked away.

“What?” Effron asked, legitimately confused. So they were friendly. What of it?

“Those two,” Ambergris replied with a laugh, “’e’er since Icewind Dale when Dahlia left us. They’ve been more obvious and happier for it.” She began to follow their path down the stairs.

“Obvious?” it was Afafrenfere’s turn to raise a confused eyebrow and shoot a question at the dwarf. They didn’t noticing anything obvious about the two men aside from a little less open hostility in public.

Ambergris snorted loudly, “Oh please. Ye think I don’t know a pair of lovers when I see ‘em?”

“Lovers?” The two men laughed simultaneously, confused and surprised looks trained on Ambergris demanding answers.

She snorted again, continuing off down the hallway and pointing at Afafrenfere over her shoulder, “I watched ye sneak around with Parbid for years, I’m pretty sure I know what one looks like.” And she disappeared down the stairs, leaving the warlock and the monk to stare dumbly at an empty hallway. It made sense, but at the same time it didn’t make sense at all.

Drizzt and Artemis? Having an affair? Really?

Afafrenfere remembered watching Drizzt punch Artemis in the face from his bedroom window two nights ago after the two men shouted at each other for several minutes.

Effron remembered seeing Artemis let Drizzt into his room late one night in Port Llast.

It made sense.

Effron’s train of thought was derailed when the rest of the cleric’s statement caught up to him. “You and Parbid?” he asked suddenly, causing the monk to jump.

“I’d rather not.” He swept a tangle of curly blond hair from his face and headed off after the dwarf before Effron could press him further. Effron stayed a little behind him as they joined the others.

“Last to bed, last to rise,” Entreri snickered at them, finally getting a chance to return Afafrenfere’s barb from the day before.

The monk shot him a rude gesture and a scathing look, “It’s a little different when you don’t sleep at all.”

Artemis laughed at him and Drizzt kicked the assassin under the table, hissing at him that now was not the time to pick fights and that they had a long day ahead of them. Artemis shrugged at him, having gotten his jab in already.

The five companions sat at the table divvying up the work load and figuring out how they would help these people rebuild their city. It wasn’t long before the citizens joined in the conversation listing tasks that needed to be done, how many homes needed rebuilding and how many remained standing.

By mid-morning, every able-bodied man, woman, and most of the older children were out in the streets gathering what supplies they could. Families collected trinkets and heirlooms from the rubble of their ruined homes to move into new buildings. The panic of the previous day was replaced with relief and certain type of joy that comes in the wake of disaster when your family is alive and well, and only your home is gone.

Women kept the children corralled when they weren’t moving supplies or keeping the men taken care of. Men gathered timber and stone, reinforcing the few buildings that held strong in the quake. Ambergris put her dwarven heritage to use, cracking foundation stones with her mace so they may be used elsewhere. Afafrenfere found similar work on rooftops, his nimble steps and stable footing keeping him up there for most of the day. Drizzt and Artemis found work where they could, bouncing between streets and homes doing whatever was required of them in the moment.

Sometime that afternoon, Artemis felt a presence at his side. Something hesitant, not really wanting to be there, but forced to anyway. He turned slowly to see the boy that had pulled him aside the previous day standing nearby, eyes down, kicking loose stones.

“I’m sorry,” the boy mumbled. Someone had sent him here. Probably the dwarf, Artemis figured, she had seen the fit the boy had thrown.

The assassin ruffled the boy’s hair, but kept his expression dour, “No offense taken,” he said. “But keep yourself calm. Few are so forgiving, and if you do something like that in the face of a stranger’s kindness again and you will have first-hand knowledge of what happens when they take offense.”

The boy raised his eyes to the man’s, paled, and skittered away not wanting to be anywhere near the terrifying man.

“You know he just lost his mother, right?” Drizzt said, elbowing the human in the side.

“You know you’ve been hovering all day,” the assassin shot back, far from amused, “I do not appreciate it.” Drizzt tried to raise his voice in denial, but Artemis cut him off, “I’ve been _watching_ _you_ hover over me, Drizzt. I am a grown man. I don’t need you watching me like an overprotective mother.”

The ranger took offense in spite of himself, “You think I’m acting like an over protective parent?”

“Mother.” He corrected, “And, if the boot fits…”

Drizzt made an angry noise, “Well, last time I took my eyes off you for a few minutes a building came down on you.”

Artemis whirled around on him, “And what would you have done had you seen me go in? Followed me? Then one or both of us would be injured or dead, and what would that have solved?”

The drow opened his mouth to snarl back in argument when someone called his name. Both men turned to see Effron standing not too far away, but with enough distance that they could be sure the boy hadn’t heard their conversation.

“Shoo, ranger,” Artemis said, turning on his heel and walking off in the opposite direction.

Drizzt rolled his eyes and jogged up to the warlock, “What do you need?”

“Do you have a spare moment or two?”

The drow looked back over his shoulder and saw only empty street. A knot of worry tightened in his throat and he swallowed it. Perhaps he had overstepped in wanting to keep an eye on Artemis, and if he kept watching the man, it would probably only lead to open hostility. With a sigh, he decided it was best to leave the man alone for the day, and turned back to Effron with a nod.

“I have an idea about what might have caused the quake,” the warlock said, voice low.

“The primordial,” Drizzt replied, “we already knew that.”

Effron nodded, but wasn’t convinced, “The only way the primordial can do any kind of damage outside of Gauntlgrym is if its bonds are loosened. The explosion only happened because it was awakened and released, you know?”

“You think someone loosened the bonds on the primordial to start the quake on purpose. But who? Tiago?”

He shrugged his mangled shoulders, “Perhaps, and only for a time. Maybe he’s trying to distract us. Or wants us to lower our guard for when he sends his scouts.”

“How do account for the quake we had a couple years ago?” Anna, the woman who had welcomed them to Neverwinter alongside her husband, stood behind the warlock at the street corner, “If the earthquakes happen on purpose, then what was that?”

The warlock winced, obviously he hadn’t thought of that, “A false alarm maybe? Tiago might have thought we’d come here and set off the first quake only to realize we weren’t. Or maybe to throw off our guard now, so we wouldn’t suspect. It all seems too convenient.”

“Well, keep your paranoia to yourself, last thing we need is the people finding out someone can do this stuff at will, unless we know for sure.” She said, returning to her tasks.

Effron looked at Drizzt helplessly, “This wasn’t a natural disaster,” he said firmly, “I’m sure of it. This has magic written all over it.”

The ranger sighed, “If you get proof, I’ll back you, but until then, helping these people rebuild is our priority for the next few days.” The warlock mumbled something about the citizens being able to manage without them, Drizzt caught it immediately, “That may be so, but we’re here so we help, got it?”

Effron chewed his lip, “I suppose. This whole hero thing is new to me.”

“You’ll learn,” Drizzt smiled, patting him on his good arm, “I have faith in you.” Effron returned the smile and Drizzt sent the boy on his way, “now go. Put that magic of yours to good use.”

Drizzt took a deep breath once he was alone. Effron could be right, it would explain the lack of scouts, and it left the city vulnerable. If the drow in Gauntlgrym had figured out a way to control the primordial outside of the forges, or even if they were on their way to such a discovery, it could spell disaster for so many. Storming the fort was becoming less of a bad idea and more of a very real contingency.

“You don’t honestly believe that do you?” Artemis’s voice said from the shadows and Drizzt couldn’t even try to hide his startled jump.

“I thought you left. How long have you-?”

“Effron wants to talk to you in private in the aftermath of disaster and you don’t expect me to eavesdrop?” the assassin laughed. “I figured he’d have some sort of idea, but nothing as outlandish as that.”

Drizzt scowled, “It isn’t that outlandish.”

“He’s talking about dark elves controlling an ancient entity of power in the matter of a few decades. Yes. It is that outlandish.”

The ranger’s scowl deepened, “Maybe they aren’t controlling it. Maybe they’re just adjusting the length of the chains that do.”

Artemis didn’t have an argument for that, not that it mattered; an uproar a few streets over would have stopped their conversation anyway. They shared a look of confusion and darted off down the street.

“Yer an oaf, an’ yer useless,” Ambergris’s voice was shouting above the din of thick crowd that had gathered around. Effron and Afafrenfere were standing off to the side talking in gestures and harsh voices about who should “stop her”

“What’s going on?” the two men asked as they approached.

“Ambergris is getting into fights with the townspeople,” Effron sighed before turning on Afafrenfere, “She’s your roommate.”

“She’ll settle,” the monk argued, “he did insult her family.”

“That is no reason to attack people,” Drizzt cut in.

Afafrenfere shrugged, “To be fair, he swung at her first.” The crowd shared a wince and a groan as punches landed. “Well, he tried to lift her up and throw her.”

Drizzt scowled at him and then at the crowd. “How long have they been at this?” He asked pulling his bow from his shoulder. When the other three raised up in protest it Drizzt dismissed them, “This is not what we are here to do. Paid fights are one thing, but this-“ He shot an arrow just above the gathering, bright streak of silver catching the attention of all present. He whistled. “That’s enough.”

The crowd dispersed, returning to their tasks and only the combatants remained.  Ambergris was sitting astride a hairy man so large her feet did not touch the ground. His head lolled from side to side on the pavestones as he huffed and groaned, future bruises blooming red on his skin.

“Bah, he’ll be fine,” the dwarf snorted in the face of Do’Urden’s concerned look. “He should know better than to try and throw a dwarf.” Afafrenfere laughed and Artemis scoffed, but that was about all the quip got her. She shrugged, hopped off the man, and trotted off to work; nudging the drow playfully as she passed.

Drizzt tried to hide his smile.

The rest of the day continued as well as anyone could have hoped. A few more buildings stood strong, and several families had homes outside of the inn. Effron got his room back that night, offering to share it with Afafrenfere so they could both sleep easier without having to drown out snoring with conversation and meditating. They were both sound asleep before the sun set, and Ambergris rejoiced in the thought of a room to herself. Drizzt retired early when Artemis was conspicuously absent come nightfall.

Maybe another building fell on him, Drizzt thought bitterly. He leaned heavily against the wall, staring out the window. He could see progress, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t a solution. What was to stop the next earthquake, or the next? He scanned the shadows closely. Where was Artemis?

The knot of worry formed in his throat again and he laughed at himself for being so foolish. When he was quiet again, he felt a hand settle against his back.

“You know you can’t rebuild in a day,” the assassin said, maintaining seriousness in the face of Drizzt’s obvious surprise.

“We should put a bell on you,” the ranger tried to laugh off his embarrassment. “And that’s not what I’m worried about.”

“I don’t like to jingle,” Artemis replied, sliding in closer. “You think Effron’s theory has merit? Still?”

“I think all of Effron’s theories have merit to some extent,” Drizzt replied. He thought of what the warlock had said about Dahlia and shuddered at the prospect.

The ranger felt an arm wrap tightly around him, as if the assassin could sense the tension and concern that had settled like so much dust inside him. “Come to bed,” the request soft and innocent in his ear. Drizzt resisted at first, but allowed himself to be guided away from the window and comfortably to bed.

Try as he might, the drow couldn’t stop himself from thinking of Dahlia, and how many times she had made similar requests. How many times she had pulled him in with her voice, or her harsh beauty. How many times he submitted to her, and the more he thought about it, the more he struggled to remember why.

But Artemis’s request was different. It wasn’t sexual, it wasn’t even romantic, but a simple innocuous request that Drizzt join him; warm under the blankets in the cool night and comforted by the presence beside him. The ranger took it a step further, curling up tightly to the human, sharply pointed ear pressed securely above his heart, letting it lull him to near-sleep in the deepening gloom.

“You were right,” Drizzt whispered, as though his voice would somehow scare the moment away, “I was hovering. I apologize. I just… I almost lost you. I can’t go through that again. Not now.” A hand brushed through his hair a few times, and he was a sleep before Artemis responded, if he responded at all.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Ashenglade was empty.

Not at all what Tiago had expected. When Dahlia said she’d wanted to use this place as their base, he thought there’d be more, something. Anything, really. But instead all he was met with was ash, dust, and ruins.

“Remind me why we’re here again.” Ravel groaned, “Oh yeah. Your faerie friend thought it would be a good idea.”

Tiago smacked him upside the head, effectively silencing him, “There’s a reason for this. I’m sure of it.”

Ravel was going to argue, but opted against it, instead focusing on the large black raven circling the tower in the moonlight.

They and their small group of mercenaries had unloaded their supplies in the tower; the only building that remained standing, ominous and powerful, over the glade. It was as empty as the surrounding area, but still sparsely furnished, holding the remnants of Sylora Salm’s time there like fading memories in the cobwebs. Dahlia landed on the balcony, out of the sight of the soldiers, and scoured the tower for supplies. The mercenaries filed out to keep the area secure in the presence of night, eventually leaving the two male leaders alone on the main floor.  

She watched the small silhouettes and shadows of elves leave the tower before setting back to her work. Dahlia sighed and rifled through drawers and cabinets. The place had already been swept, and all of Sylora’s supplies were gone. She had no way to raise Ashenglade. She fumed as quietly as she could. Oh well. She knew this was a possibility and it was why the mercenaries were brought in the first-

“Looking for something?” The elf jolted into action, spinning around and breaking her staff into flails. The woman that spoken to her laughed, “C’mon,” she said, waving her hands in a taunting fashion, as Dahlia raised her weapons, “give me your best shot.”

The elf swung with one hand, immediately following with the other, and hitting nothing but air both times. She paused, confused, and relaxed slightly, weapons still ready in her hands.

“Good,” the Shifter said, clapping her hands together, “now that that’s out of the way, and I have your attention, I have come to make you an offer.”

“I don’t make deals with shades,” Dahlia growled.

The Shifter smiled, “Oh, I think you will.” She told Dahlia about an offer from Draygo Quick. That he was willing to use his magic to populate Ashenglade as it had been when Salm first built it. The added force in addition to her own allies would make the place an veritable fortress, and her designs on Do’Urden would be child’s play.

“What is your price?” The elf was sneering less now.

“The dwarf,” the illusionist replied, “the monk, and the warlock.”

Ambergris, Afafrenfere, and Effron. Dahlia almost turned her away, not wanting to lose Effron as a potential prize. But, she reminded herself, he is a small fish. Do’Urden and Entreri were the real targets. “And that is all he wants?”

“All that you can provide,” was the reply.

“How soon can he get here?”

“When do you need him?” Dahlia told her that she wanted the place operational by the following night. “Consider it done.”

She had her army. This might just work.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Ravel laughed as a little brown spider crawled onto his hand, “Feels like home already.”

Tiago rolled his eyes. “I certainly hope there’s more to this little plan of yours,” he called up into the rafters, “you wouldn’t like to see me disappointed.”

“And yet it seems that all you _are_ is disappointment.”

Both men turned to see Jarlaxle standing in the doorway, arms crossed, disapproving expression on his face. “What is all this?” he asked, flippantly gesturing around them. “Don’t you think you should secure your current colony before expanding to the surface?”

“That’s not what this,” Ravel argued. Tiago shot him a burning look that probably would have killed spellspinner had Tiago been inclined for magic.

“Oh?” Anger tinged Jarlaxle’s voice, “What is it then? Because it looks like an outpost.”

Tiago stood, closing the gap between himself and the mercenary leader, “It is me getting my dues.”

“You will use this place to capture Do’Urden,” Jarlaxle observed, anger diminishing, “And here I was thinking you were overstepping not doing something completely asinine.”

The Baenre’s good humor faded, “I will capture him.”

“Who told you about this place?”

“That does not concern you.”

Jarlaxle laughed obnoxiously in his face, using the small distance between them to make sure it really stung the other man, “If you do not tell me now I will find out some other way, and if I do not like what I will hear I will make sure your matron hears it as well.”

Tiago stared hard at him, “Do you…” he paused, scanning the older elf’s face, “Do you not want me to capture Do’Urden?”

The bright smile on Jarlaxle’s face only broadened, “I do not want you to make a fool of yourself while my men are in your employ.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Tiago replied. Ravel tried to protest, knowing that picking a fight with Jarlaxle was a bad idea, but was silenced. With a shrug the spellspinner settled, if Tiago wanted to get himself killed, so be it.

“You want to know what’s true, boy?” Jarlaxle said, pushing back the wide brim of his hat to settle in closer, “What’s true is that those are my men securing this glade right now, not yours. What’s true is that you have more ambition than is for you, and you have no idea how to handle it. What’s true is you are so far out of your depth you don’t know which way is up. What’s true is that you will stand there with an ignorant smile on your face thinking yourself victorious when all you’ve accomplished is invoking the wrath of the Hunter.”

He lowered his brim and swept away, pausing only briefly to add, “And when my men die on your order, Kimmuriel will agree with me on this, it will be the last suicidal deal you broker with the Bregan D’aerthe.” And, with that, he was gone.

Tiago stood, silent and slightly shaken by the forwardness of Jarlaxle’s approach. He knew the man’s mercenaries meant a great deal to him, but this was an absurd amount of loyalty for a dark elf.

“What did that mean?” Ravel asked, arched eyebrow directed at the Baenre, “‘invoking the wrath of the Hunter’?”

The sound of the spellspinner’s voice broke Tiago’s trance. “I have no idea.”

Before they could discuss it further, Dahlia came down the stairs to join them. “We start in the morning,” she said, “and by nightfall, Do’Urden will break.”

Tiago’s smile returned. “That is wonderful news,” he laughed, before balling his fist and punching her solidly in the face, knocking her backward.

She grunted in pain and wiped a streak of blood from the corner of her mouth as she rose from the ground. When she was fully righted, Tiago hit her again.


	11. The Long Fall

The days were growing warmer.

Spring’s roots had taken hold all over, warming the world and its inhabitants, melting the last, reluctant drifts of ice, and filling the world with color and life. Drizzt could feel the buzz of nature waking even from his bed in the inn in Neverwinter, and it called to him to be outdoors.

He nearly heeded its call, but a strong arm wrapped around his waist and the warm body pressed against him kept him contentedly in bed. He stretched lazily in the orange light of morning, settling against his bedmate, inadvertently waking the other man in the process.

Artemis grumbled something about it being too early and please just five more minutes, and nuzzled the drow’s shoulder sleepily. Drizzt almost laughed at the childishness of the whole thing. He craned his neck to get a better look at the human and saw one grey eye cracked open, squinting against the sunlight, staring back at him, shadowed by messy black hair.

“You’re going to make me get up, aren’t you?” Artemis accused, voice muffled.

“Not yet,” the ranger sighed, rolling over to face his bedmate and pulling him into a soft, slow kiss.

When they finally broke apart, short of breath and tangled up in one another; fingers woven into hair or gripping fabric, limbs loosely wrapped around something solid, be it a torso or another limb. Drizzt smiled and unwrapped himself nudging the assassin toward the edge of the bed, “Now I am.” When the man protested, Drizzt laughed and kept nudging, “Come now, don’t be such a child. It’s time to start the day.”

Artemis got out of bed long enough for the ranger to stop pushing him before collapsing back down when Drizzt had his back turned, “My day starts at sundown,” and earned himself a smack on the shoulder and a ruffling of his hair ending in a painful tug, “Alright, alright, _mother.”_

 “If you were not such a child, I wouldn’t have to mother you.” Drizzt scolded, trying to sound his best like the typical doting mother, but his lack of knowledge to what that was showed in his impersonation, and he really only succeeded in making himself sound overly feminine and silly.

Artemis just laughed and the moment ended on a high despite Drizzt’s short-lived embarrassment. They both dressed quickly, collecting what they would need for the day. Drizzt found himself pulled into a brief hug as they were about leave the room, accompanied by a soft kiss to his temple.

“What was that fo-“ Drizzt tried to ask, but Artemis was already gone. The ranger tried to disperse the warmth that had settled over him, or the smile that was blooming on his face.

They waited for the rest of their merry band in comfortable silence in the tavern. Ambergris overslept without Afafrenfere there to wake her, while the monk and the warlock looked like they had gotten the best sleep of their lives. As a group, they set out to start a day much like the one before, helping to rebuild and reinforce sparsely populated Neverwinter.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Drizzt was near the city gate when he heard it: the sound of uneven footfalls rushing toward him and a familiar voice calling his name. He turned just in time to catch Dahlia as she fell, colliding with him and sending them both backward a few steps.

“Drizzt,” she panted, holding on to him, “please help me.”

Instinctively, he tried to push her away. She only complied a little, hands maintaining their white-knuckled grip on his shirt. She was battered and bloody; one eye swollen shut, deep purple almost to black with bruising, fresh blood still dripped from her nose and her cut on her swollen lip. Red marks and fresh bruises littered her exposed skin like spots on leopard’s coat, and deep black and red marks banded her wrists and forearms. All of her gear was missing, except for her torn clothing. Even her black diamond stud had been torn from her ear. “Please,” she whimpered, desperately clinging to him, “help me.”

The ranger could not find it in him to turn her away.

He led her to the inn, asking some of the townspeople he passed to gather his friends and tell them to meet him there. When he finally sat her down at a table and tended to her, she calmed a bit.

“Thank you,” she sighed, “I know you have all the reason in the world not to help me.”

Drizzt said nothing, not even bothering to make eye contact with her.

Effron arrived first. His initial response was, unsurprisingly, outrage, “What is she doing here?” he growled. But then he got a better look at her and her injuries and simmered down, falling into a seat beside them, closer to Drizzt than to Dahlia.

Artemis was next, not reacting at all, but taking a spot standing behind Drizzt’s right shoulder. Anyone near him could feel his scrutiny leaving bumps on their skin even though his gaze was trained on the bleeding elven woman seated at the table.

Ambergris and Afafrenfere were the last to arrive, each taking a protective seat on either side of the ranger casting confused looks at him as they did so. What was she doing here? Why were they here together? Why had he brought her into the city? Bruised or no she was still a traitor that had tried to kill him only a few months ago.

“Start talking,” Artemis instructed, and all eyes shifted to Dahlia.

“Tiago’s men took me in Icewind Dale,” she said, voice shaking, eyes trained on the assassin now and not the ranger, “I wanted to get some air, clear my head and that’s when they got me.”

“How many?” Artemis snapped. He wasn’t even letting her breathe between answers. She would get no more sympathy from him, and everyone present knew it.

Drizzt could only watch.

“I don’t really know. Two, maybe three,” she shook her head, trying to remember. “They hit me with one of those darts when my guard was down. That nasty poison works fast,” she explained.

“Where did they take you?”

“To Tiago in Gauntlgrym,” she said. “I didn’t want to give you guys up, believe me.” She sobbed quietly a few times, “They tortured me for days, maybe even weeks, I don’t know. The room they kept me in was dark. I had to tell them _something_.”

“So ye told them we’d go to Llast,” Ambergris interjected.

Dahlia nodded, wobbling a bit in her chair, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know where you would go after that, and he said it didn’t matter. That I didn’t have to know anything to be a hostage.” She melted into sobs for a few moments. Her old companions watched her closely. With a deep breath and a sniffle, she continued, “Then the earthquake hit, and I managed to escape. I didn’t think I’d find you guys here.”

“Don’t think yourself lucky you did,” Effron grumbled. The others didn’t object to the sentiment.

“Effron,” she whimpered, trying to get the boy to look her in the eye, “I didn’t betray you guys on purpose.”

“You tried to kill me on purpose,” Drizzt said, finally finding his voice, “No one held you at knife point or threatened you with the might of their god to do that.” The others were quiet; watching the two elves seated a small space from each other. Drizzt held her gaze, Artemis’s ominous presence at his shoulder bolstering his anger and resolve. “You wanted me dead. You betrayed me. Why should I believe anything that you say?”

She cowed, “Drizzt… I was wrong. I was selfish.” She admitted, “I do not like rejection, and I have killed for lesser crimes. Life does not mean the same to others that it does to Drizzt Do’Urden.”

“You are lucky that life means that much to me,” his voice was jarringly even, as though it was smoothed over something more jagged and dangerous, “Or you would be dead right now.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” She sighed, “I am not asking you to forgive me.”

“What _are_ you asking for?” Afafrenfere cut in. “Protection?”

Dahlia’s eyes darted between Drizzt and Artemis, addressing them both, “You know what fate will await me at the hands of the drow. You don’t have to accept me, or forgive me, or even like me, just… don’t let them have me. I can’t do this on my own. I need help.”

Her plea was humble; she would have dropped to her knees and begged had her injuries not kept her planted in her seat.

The six sat in silence, contemplating each other for several tense moments. “Drizzt?” Effron whispered.

“Tend to her most grievous injuries, any broken bones or the like” Drizzt told Ambergris. When the others raised their voices in protest and outrage, he raised a hand to silence them. The ranger rose from his chair and walked away.

“Drizzt, please-“ she begged, “They’ll take me again. Be merciful.” Her pleas followed him all the way to the stairs. “They will raid the city to find me!”

Artemis also followed Drizzt. When the assassin met him on the top the steps where the others couldn’t see them, he gave voice to his thoughts, hoping the ranger saw the same things, “She’s lying. What about I am uncertain,” he pondered a moment. “She confessed to giving us up to Tiago and her injuries are real...”

“Maybe she went to them,” Drizzt reasoned, “thinking they could be allies and all they did was take her hostage.” He made a quiet, angry noise and leaned against the wall.

“We could always kill her,” Artemis suggested, but Drizzt’s aggravated expression sobered him, “Joking.”  When the ranger’s expression turned plaintive, Artemis sighed, “Well, we can almost be certain she went to Tiago with the intent to betray us. I don’t buy the kidnapping story for a second. But, if they did take her hostage, she will be a target.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

Drizzt’s voice was quiet and desperate, and it stung Artemis in a way he knew it shouldn’t have.  The ranger was getting to him. He found himself forced to compromise; killing Dahlia was the best option, it would prevent her from betraying them again either within the group or to the enemy, and if even some of her story was true, death would take the target off her back. But, Artemis knew, there was no way he’d be able to convince Drizzt to kill her if her story had some hope of being legitimate, if she’d come to them in true need. He sighed heavily and leaned against the wall beside the ranger. “We could” he paused and collected his thoughts, “we could get her out of the city. Send her to Luskan or all the way to Baldur’s Gate, and leave her there. Stick her on a boat or something. Turn her into the lords as an agent of Thay, at least then she’d be in prison and out of our hair for a while.”

The ranger turned to him, “You don’t like that option.”

“I want her dead,” Artemis confessed, “That way she cannot cause trouble and we can all sleep better at night.”

“Artemis-“

“I know,” He laced his fingers with the ranger’s and gave his hand a comforting squeeze, “and it aggravates me endlessly.”

They shared a weak smile.

“Let’s keep a close eye on her,” Drizzt offered, “see if we can catch her in the lie.”

“And then we kill her.” The ranger gave him an exasperated groan and a gentle shove, “What?”

“You can’t solve all your problems with murder.”

Artemis laughed, “No, not all, but the ones involving other people.”

The ranger rolled his eyes and a soft laugh escaped him, “You are incorrigible.” But Artemis was already back down the stairs and couldn’t hear him. With a huff and a steadying breath the drow trotted down to join him.

“Bah, nothin’ broken,” Ambergris snorted taking a few steps back from the elf, “let the wounds heal on their own. I’m not wasting my magic.”

“What are we going to do?” Effron had taken Entreri’s vacant spot opposite Dahlia in their absence. “Is she staying?”

Drizzt looked to each of the members of his group with an unsure expression.  Ambergris was actively shaking her head, having none of this nonsense. Afafrenfere bore a similar disapproving expression. Effron wore a mask of nervous concern. Artemis didn’t his glance, being too busy staring daggers at the battered and desperate Dahlia.

The elf made a pleading noise.

“We’re going to get her out of Neverwinter,” Drizzt said, “After that, she is nothing to us.”

Tension rippled through his companions. Effron visible bristled at the idea. “She’s going to stay with us.”

“We’re going to stick her on a boat in Luskan,” Drizzt explained, “What she does after that is her business, but it will not involve us.”

“And if she betrays us again?” Ambergris snorted.

“She dies,” Artemis answered, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Slowly.” That seemed to placate everyone, for now.

“When do we leave?” Dahlia asked.

“Immediately.”

She sighed heavily, hanging her head in resigned acceptance.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Evening was fast approaching when Tiago and his men approached the boarder of Neverwinter. Few guards lined the crumbling walls, and a scant amount of people filled the streets lined with shadows. He signaled for his men to take their positions and they scattered obediently.

“How do we know this will work?” Ravel demanded, trying to be the voice of reason. “He may have just killed her already. Or he’ll shoot us down.”

The Baenre rolled his eyes, “That is not Do’Urden’s way. And we have this.” He held up Kozah’s Needle, folded into a four foot staff, “The faerie says it absorbs his arrows and gains power. It’s what she used against us in Gauntlgrym.”

The spellspinner took the staff and tested its balance in his hand. “Is that so…”

Tiago flashed him a cocky smile, looking back to check if his men were in position. They were.

Now all they had to do was wait for the signal.

-0-0-0-0-0-

They headed out as a strategic group; Afafrenfere and Effron in the front, Drizzt and Ambergris on either side of Dahlia, Artemis taking up the rear. They opted to travel on foot instead of the two steeds they had between them, it would take longer, but would generally be more comfortable for everyone.

“If I didn’t know better I’d say I was a prisoner,” Dahlia joked.

Effron looked over his mangled shoulder at her, “Too bad you’re stupid then, because that’s what you are.”

Dahlia scowled, wounded. “I thought we had made progress, Effron,” she sighed, “That you had started to forgive me.”

“That was before you tried to kill my friends and ran off.” The boy replied.

“I was taken,” the elf argued, “I had no reason to choose to leave you, Effron. Not after all-“

“Shut up,” he growled, wanting to hear no more, “Just shut up and make life easier for the rest of us you insufferable cow.”

Dahlia snarled, limped up behind the warlock, and shoved him. Drizzt grabbed her by the arm and pulled her away while Afafrenfere held Effron back. “And to think I saw something in you,” she spat on the ground at the boy’s feet.

Effron said nothing, just broke away from the monk’s grip and kept walking toward their destination. “The sooner we get there,” he sighed, “the sooner we can leave.”

And they were off again. But only briefly.

Shouts and cries for help erupted in the city behind them. People crying “raiders!” and the sound of weapons colliding ringing toward them shortly after. All eyes turned to Dahlia, who looked back at them, helpless and frightened. “They came for me.”

The rest of the group scowled at her, then at Drizzt.

Ambergris growled, brandishing Skullcrusher. She grabbed Dahlia roughly by the wounded wrist with her free hand, “C’mon girlie.”

“I told you they’d raid the city for me,” she sighed at Drizzt.

“There is still time to kill you,” Entreri growled at her.

Dahlia said no more.

The five companions and their prisoner darted back into the city weapons drawn and ready, only to be encircled as soon as they got through the gates. Dark elves, perhaps a half dozen, though there may have been more lurking in the shadows ambushed them, taking up shaking townspeople as hostages as they swarmed the companions, forcing them to stay their blades, if only for a time. They made no requests, and no moves to attack. They just corralled the group into a tight ball.

As they scanned the group a few familiar faces stood out among the hostages; Geoff and his wife among others that had been close to them and helpful in the previous days.

“Why aren’t they attacking?” Afafrenfere whispered, “What are they waiting for?”

-0-0-0-0-0-

“That was quick,” Tiago laughed, pulling his saber from its scabbard. “Stay here.”

Ravel was more than content to take that order.

A quick sprint and the Baenre was right outside Neverwinter’s crumbling wall. He took a brief moment to admire the proficiency of the mercenaries the Bregan D’aerthe had so generously supplied him. Their formation tight, their earplugs hidden.

This was too easy.

He flicked his wrist, bringing Lullaby up from his side. He ran a gloved hand across its glass blade, and it began to sing; soft, and sweet, barely audible at first, but carrying on the wind. Tiago, despite wielding the sword and being immune to its charming effects, could feel himself soften around the edges to the tune. Potent magic indeed.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Drizzt’s blade sagged in his hand, and try as he might he could not keep it straight. Artemis seemed to be having a similar problem as far as the ranger could tell from a sidelong glance. He could almost hear the dwarf snoring while still on her feet, and the few townspeople he could see were snoozing already. But the raiders seemed just fine.

“I could take you like this, Drizzt Do’Urden,” called a voice behind him, “but where’s the sport in that?”

The drowsy group all shifted and turned to see Tiago Baenre stepping backward, just beyond the barrier of ambushers, Dahlia held captive in the crook of his arm. “No,” he continued, “I’d rather best you in a fair fight before dragging you down to my matron on a spike.”

Drizzt ground his teeth, sheathing his swords clumsily and drawing his bow, “Tiago-“

The mercenaries closed in around them, using their hostages as shields and stealing his shot. They kept the companions in place as they retreated. Dahlia’s cries for help rose up on the wind and drowned out the other sounds. The farther away Tiago and Dahlia were, the quieter that music became until it vanished completely, leaving them all awake and alert.

“What in the-“ Ambergris grumbled, still trying to shake the cloud that had settled around her head, “What was that? A charm?”

“Some sort of sleeping spell. A siren song maybe,” Effron said, “I heard music.”

“So did I,” Drizzt agreed, ready to take off after them, only to be stopped by Artemis.

“Let them go,” Artemis whispered, pulling the ranger close, “This is obviously what they want. To lure you and the rest of us into a trap.”

“And what happens when we don’t go?” Drizzt hissed back, “When they realize we’re on to them and she and the others are useless?”

“We’re not honestly going to save her are we?” groaned Effron, and the others looked at the two leaders of their group with apprehension.

They weren’t honestly going to go and save her, right?

“Drizzt, she tried to kill you. She betrayed us. Let it be.” Artemis warned. “They took the townspeople to get to us; they probably won’t hurt them too badly. You and Dahlia are their prizes.”

“Artemis, please. You think like they do, they’ll listen to you.” Drizzt took hold of Entreri’s arm, not knowing what else to do, “I know what they’ll do to her, and I can’t let that happen. No one deserves that, and certainly not because of me. Do not force me to live with that burden on my soul.”

Artemis held his gaze for what felt like an age, but really could not have been more than several heartbeats. “We go.” He said, loud enough for the rest of the group to hear. “Dahlia betrayed us, she is ours to kill, not Tiago’s. And we can’t leave the villagers to die not after all we did to save them.”

Drizzt breathed a sigh of relief when the group reluctantly agreed. And together they set out in pursuit.

-0-0-0-0-0-

“They will follow us?”

Dahlia rolled her eyes and downed another swig of the healing potion Tiago had given her, “Can you go one second without doubting me? Of course they will follow us. If anything just so _they_ will get to kill me and not you two.”  She felt the burn of her wounds healing and smiled, “Pretty convincing beating you gave me.” She said to Tiago, “Drizzt was butter in my hands. Taking the villagers was a nice touch too.”

“And the others?” Ravel asked and again Dahlia rolled her eyes at him.

“Well, if they _don’t_ follow that’ll be even less of a problem, won’t it?” She smiled wickedly, “Now all we have to do is get them back to the fort and they are as good as done for. Remember, the assassin is mine, and the others are going to Draygo. Only Do’Urden is yours.”

Tiago scoffed at her. As long as he had his prize.

The first silver arrow streaked right past them, knocking into the back of one of the sellswords and sent him to the ground in a heap. Dahlia motioned for Ravel to keep her staff ready for the next one, the movements hidden by Tiago’s form standing between her and the people she once traveled alongside.

The spellspinner caught the next arrow with Kozah’s Needle, bolt sinking into the weapon with ease, and sending a charge up his arms. Ravel stopped, braced himself, and fired the bolt back at them. He missed terribly, only succeeding in leaving a black patch of scorched earth at Do’Urden’s feet.

No arrows followed.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Arunika’s brow furrowed as she stared into her ball.  “Oh no.”

Jarlaxle, sitting across from her at the table, caught the expression.  “What?”

She did not respond.

“Arunika?”

Still, no response. Several minutes passed.

Athrogate waved a hand in front of the woman’s face, “What did ye do? Break her?”

Jarlaxle made a face. “No,” he replied, less than amused, “I think she sees something.” He banged his hand on the table trying to jar the ball and get her attention, “Arunika, what do you see? Arunika!”

The woman snapped out of her trance, shaking her head sending her red tresses flying. She sighed. “Something is happening. Something damaging to our investment.”

“How so?”

“Do’Urden and Entreri are in Ashenglade,” she said, voice somber, “as is the rest of their group.” Jarlaxle’s face fell at the news. “And there’s more.”

“What?” Athrogate piped in when the woman did not elaborate, but stood and threw on her travelling cloak; his drow companion followed suit and the dwarf was left to stand at the table, confused. “What?”

“I’ll tell you on the way,” she said, motioning for the men to follow, “but we should hurry.”

-0-0-0-0-0-

The ash shifted and swirled about their ankles as they progressed, a low breeze kicking up the grey flakes and sticking to their cloaks and clothing. The sun was hanging low, skirting the line of trees surrounding the glade and deepening the gloom. Night was fast approaching, and soon they wouldn’t be able to make out their targets’ footprints in the dust. The five companions slowed their pace, weapons ready, braced for the trap they knew they were walking into. Why had they been brought to Ashenglade and not Gauntlgrym? What had they walked into?

“There’s no way Dahlia could have rearmed this place,” Artemis said, more to himself than the rest of the group, “Not in a couple of months with the drow on her back.”

“She’d need a powerful necromancer,” Effron agreed, “Do the dark elves have one in their settlement?”

“I don’t think so,” Drizzt replied, too busy scanning the shadows for movement to give a more detailed answer.

A shrill cry cut through the glade. Dahlia, screaming for help but cut short before a full word had escaped her. Drizzt bolted up toward the noise, Entreri in tow, only to stop short when the footfalls of their companions did not follow them.

Zombies and skeletons were crawling from the ash like flowers during the spring bloom. There were dozens, and they were all trained on the trio the assassin and his ranger had left behind. Groaning and gnashing their jaws, staring blankly, they advanced.

Ambergris swung her mace at the nearest few with a satisfied grunt. “Go get the girl and the others, so we can get out of here.” She dented in a zombie’s face with a powerful swipe of her weapon, “We can handle them.”

But a small army was forming and they all knew the dwarf’s words would not hold true for long.

“Let’s go, Do’Urden,” the assassin called to his companion.

Drizzt fell in behind him, calling his panther as they went and sending her into the shadows on the outskirts of the undead throng as they went.

They reached the plateau housing the black branching specter that had been Sylora Salm’s stronghold in short order. Tiago was waiting for them, surrounded by mercenaries, weapons drawn, and ready for a fight. “It’s about time you showed up,” he laughed, “I thought I was going to have to kill my hostage.” He brought his blade to Dahlia’s throat and she whimpered unconvincingly. The Baenre clicked his tongue and the mercenaries fell into position.

“I thought you said you wanted a fair fight,” Drizzt snarled, lowering his swords and drawing the Heartseeker and leveling a shot.

The other drow laughed, “Me against the two of you is hardly fair.”

Drizzt let fly, only to have his arrow absorbed and shot back at him by the spellspinner wielding Kozah’s Needle, “Ah,” Ravel clicked his tongue, “I wouldn’t do that anymore, were I –“ His taught turned into a cry of pain as Entreri’s belt knife sliced through his shoulder, sending the staff tumbling from his hands.

“I’ve had just about enough of you people.” Entreri snorted.

Drizzt leveled and drew back for another shot, but the soldiers were already too close and he had to defend himself. He kept an eye focused on Tiago as he sidestepped to his companion. He felt stable with his back to Entreri’s.

Their hostages were gone, spirited somewhere for holding-

No.

Some of the soldiers leveling blades at them weren’t wearing armor, but peasant clothing; elaborate disguises showing that the companions had been spied upon from the very beginning. Entreri laughed quietly, appreciating the ruse for its complexity, even if it meant he’d been had like the rest of them.

“What’s it look like? Eight against two?” Drizzt joked, trying to quell the tense knot in his stomach.

“I’ve beaten worse odds,” The assassin quipped back, earning himself a scoff, “What? I killed _you_ didn’t I?”

“You cheated and you know it.”

In their element, they were smiling when the dark elves closed in and swung at them.

-0-0-0-0-0-

The zombies just kept coming. Effron’s magic tentacles and Afafrenfere’s speed gave them some room to work with, but the trio couldn’t evade the dead for long. Ambergris called on the might of her god, but even that offered them little reprieve from the steadily growing horde. They were crawling up the sides of the cliffs, out of the dust, and even some of the ones they managed to knock down rose to fight anew after only a few moments.

“Someone’s controlling them,” Effron panted, firing bolts from his wand over the dwarf’s head, “the dead are not this organized.”

“Okay, genius,” Ambergris wrenched her mace from the stubborn skull of a skeleton, “then who’s doing all this. Where is the bastard?”

Effron scanned the area, but found nothing that could help them. “He can’t be far.”

The dwarf snorted and elbowed him in the side, “Ye don’t get to speak again til ye got something useful to say!”

“Yes, boy,” a voice called from a ledge above and behind them, “you do talk far too much for your own good.”

Draygo.

Effron whirled around, hateful stare trained on the old warlock, “I should have guessed.”

“And yet you didn’t,” Draygo taunted, “Now, your little band of misfits and traitors is going to die, and you will be back in my dungeon in short order.” He brandished a staff made of three fused femurs and Effron’s heart sank.

That was his staff. The one he had taken from the skull lord. It was _his_ prize, and now Draygo was going to use it to kill him.

The old warlock clicked his tongue, “I had such hope for you too, being Alegni’s bastard seed and all. So much wasted potential. Ah, well, at least your heads will look good on my mantle. Such a fitting end for you, boy, to die at the hands of a _real_ warlock.”

“My name is not ‘boy’.” Effron snarled. Draygo only laughed at him. Looked _down_ at him.

No. Not today he wouldn’t. Not after everything Effron had to put up with from these people. Everything he went through with Drizzt, and this group that had accepted him as one of their own without too much hesitation or complaint, despite his crimes against them. This group that didn’t call him a freak, or worthless, or someone else’s ‘boy.’

Draygo blinked, and Effron was gone, only to reappear on the cliff beside him. The old warlock wasted no time dropping his staff to the ground with a twist, sending a wave of magic through the dust. When he lifted the staff, a fresh horde of zombies rose with it.

Ambergris and Afafrenfere were backed up against the cliff.

“If you’re going to work some magic, Effron,” Afafrenfere shouted; he dropped a pair of skeletons with a few quick jabs, and a third as he spun back to his spot. The monk wasn’t quite as tired as his dwarven comrade, but he was slowing. No one else might have been able to notice, but he could, “Now would be an excellent time!”

Effron, with a flick of his wrist, aimed his wand and sent a black bolt at Quick, but he was too slow. One of the shade’s zombies latched on to Effron’s trailing arm, pulling him backward and sending his bolt harmlessly wide. It clawed its way up the limb, rending flesh and tearing into his shoulder. Others gathered around his feet, firmly planted in spite of the added weight on his left side threatening to throw him off balance. They clawed and bit at him, but none could find purchase in the silk of his robes and wound up only shredding the material around his calves and ankles and harmlessly scratching his skin through it.

The younger warlock pitched forward in an attempt to stop the zombie on his arm from pulling him down completely.

“Effron!” Afafrenfere cried, weaving between zombies, trying to get to his ally.

“Where in the Hells are Do’Urden and Entreri,” Ambergris grumbled, trying again to summon the might of her god a second time, but getting nothing in return, “I was wrong, monk. I shouldn’t have sent them ahead. We don’t got this.”

-0-0-0-0-0-

The mercenaries were a challenge, but nothing compared to the war their companions were fighting. Drizzt could hear their shouts carrying on the wind, and his heart ached to help them. When the dark elves finally started to back down, their dead comrades rose to take their place. Drizzt scanned the plateau; Tiago and Dahlia right where he’d left them, but the Xorlarrin was mysteriously absent.

“I’ve lost the mage,” Drizzt said quietly when Artemis returned to his back.

“Take the shot.”

Drizzt lowered his blades and drew forth his bow, aiming steadily between the heads of approaching zombies. Artemis skirted around him, keeping the dead off the ranger with practiced ease. Tiago didn’t even bat an eye, staring back at Drizzt with a cocky smirk.

“Look at them,” the ranger heard Dahlia laugh to the dark elf at her shoulder, “they even dance as lovers.”

And his target changed.

The silver bolt cut right past Tiago and for Dahlia. She caught it with Kozah’s Needle, breaking the staff apart into flails and entering the fray. “Don’t kill him, now,” the Baenre called after her, “that’s my job.” His cocky smile faded into a concentrating scowl as he watched the two elves come together. He was not about to underestimate this one. Not as so many others had done. People get killed that way. So Tiago stayed back, watching Dahlia’s plan unfold, waiting for an opportunity to present itself.

He waited twenty years for this; he could wait a few more moments for the ranger to tire. He looked to his side, expecting to see the Xorlarrin whining and complaining about the blade in his shoulder, and found he wasn’t there.

Tiago looked about casually, but couldn’t find him.

Where could he have gone?

A sharp shout came to them from the cliffs on the wind. Tiago watched the ranger drop his weapons in a desperate attempt to disengage and run to his companion, and he knew: Do’Urden was as good as captured.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Artemis had no problems being surrounded. He had no problems fighting the undead. However, an unnaturally replenishing horde of undead coming from all sides is a bit difficult even for the most skilled of fighters to manage.

Drizzt had broken away from him, centering on Dahlia and taking her on directly. Something she had was probably controlling the dead and Artemis didn’t blame him for wanting to take her down. He hadn’t heard her ‘dancing’ comment over the ring of steel against blades, armor, and bone, not that it would have changed his opinion if he had.

They were crawling up the cliff now, ghoulish ghastly creatures with barely any flesh on their bones, gripping the smooth stones with ease.

Anytime now, Do’Urden, Artemis thought, trying to keep most of the horde trained on him and not the ranger. He’d taken on Dahlia before and knew she was no pushover, but Do’Urden could take her. Right?

The fight dragged on, and Artemis felt his arms grow tired, defending on all sides.

Anytime now.

A particularly nasty creature crawled up behind him, just under his field of vision, and pulled him, threatening to knock the nimble assassin from his feet. It was met with a swift kick to the face, and given little thought from the man. The other dead however, seemed to notice the breach in Artemis’s defenses. Artemis felt more and more of them clawing and biting at his ankles and legs from the ground, and tried to dance away. Grossly outnumbered and herded toward the cliff, the assassin knew he was tottering dangerously close to disaster.

He shot a look he knew he could not spare to the ranger. Scimitars struggled in defense against flails as the drow used every trick he could think of to gain the offensive. Dahlia was smiling at him, taunting him, trying to get him to falter. Artemis was confident that he wouldn’t, and that confidence bolstered him. A few seconds too late.

A pair of zombies tangled themselves about his feet, rooting him in place and trying to pull him down. Others descended upon him, even a few of the dark elves Artemis and Drizzt had just sent to their Spider Queen. Their combined efforts knocked the skilled fighter from his feet and onto the smooth stones.

Artemis struggled, planting the heel of his boot into several skeletal faces in an attempt to get away as they dragged him closer and closer to the edge of the cliff. Some would fall away entirely, using their weight to pull him down. One of the beasts lunged for him, clawing and biting at his skin, and Artemis responded with the blade of his dagger, weapon slipping from his hand in the process.

His feet were over the edge now, weight rapidly taking the rest of his body with them. He clawed at the smooth stones, unable to find purchase as his descent gained momentum.

“Do’Urden!” He couldn’t think of anything else to do, but call for help. The dead were falling away from him now, thinking him as good as dead and trying to find something a little less doomed, or so Artemis thought, not knowing that they were falling entirely and would not rise again.

His hands desperately gripped the edges of the stones, his feet scraping the wall of the cliff for a foothold, but only kicking loose dust and small stones. The already tired muscles in his arms began to tremble, his grip weakening quickly. He peered over his shoulder wondering if he could survive the fall, but all he saw was mist at his back and he renewed his struggle to stay on the ledge.

His hands slipped from the stones and he fell, for only a moment. The jerk in his shoulders as Drizzt caught him by the arms pulled him back to reality.

“Nice catch,” he couldn’t help himself, returning the grip, holding on to the drow’s outstretched arms like a vice.

Drizzt almost laughed. He’d barely made it in time. Panting, with the pommel of the human’s lost dagger digging into his stomach as he lay on the flat stone, Drizzt tried to pull Artemis up quickly. He’d left Dahlia only disengaged and knew that he only had a few seconds before she came up behind him.

He managed to get his knees under him, just one more tug before the assassin was over the edge when a soft boot planted itself between his shoulder blades, pushing them both back down to where they had started. He snapped his eyes shut and tried, valiantly, to keep pulling Artemis up in spite of the shock he knew was coming. Desperate and fearful, he clung tightly to the weight in his arms, tugging and fighting the inevitable, shifting in an attempt to get free in time.

All for nothing.

Drizzt could hear Dahlia laughing over the crackling electricity, he felt her strike one end of her staff into his back, the crackling louder and the smell of ozone choking him. Then, blackness.

-0-0-0-0-0

Draygo was laughing at him

A zombie had firmly latched itself onto his arm, tearing flesh down to the bone with burning swipes of nails and teeth, his friends were in danger, surrounded on all sides by the warlock’s army of dead, Drizzt and Artemis were gods knew where facing the dark elves and outnumbered themselves. And Draygo was laughing at him.

“You’re out of your league, boy,” the old warlock chuckled, “you’ve played with the big boys and lost. Just lie down and accept defeat.”

Effron ground his teeth, between the anger and worry tying complex knots with his insides and the blinding pain in his shoulder and back, he had a hard time staying defiant. He might have even given up right then and there, resigning himself to his fate if Draygo Quick wasn’t _still laughing_. “No.”

“Oh-ho,” The warlock scoffed, “The freak speaks. Not for long though,” he twisted the staff in the ground again and the sound of earth breaking surrounded them. “Any last words, _boy_?”

Something snapped in the young warlock. Something vicious and primal, and the voice that shouted back at Draygo was not his own. “My name is not ‘boy’” it roared, and he brought his good arm across his chest to fire a bolt from his wand at the zombie at his shoulder, shocking them both and sending it flying with a sickening crunch as it tried to hold on in the impact. He brought the wand back to bear at a very surprised looking Draygo, “My name is Effron the Twisted,”

Draygo twisted the staff again, but the undead it summoned were too slow to block the bolt of black energy that clipped him and sent him down. It wasn’t a square hit and wouldn’t kill him, not with the magical protection he had, but it left him stunned in the ashes long enough for Effron to show up at his side, just in his field of vision, taking up the bone staff as he did so.

The boy planted the staff in the ground and gave it a twist, the dead falling at his feet on command, “and you, Lord Quick,” The boy said on a pained laugh, “would do well to treat me with respect.”

Effron turned to check on his friends. They were still standing, panting and exhausted amidst a sea of corpses. They looked back at him with wide smiles on their faces. When Effron returned his eyes to Draygo, the old warlock was gone. Effron had expected to be more angry about that fact than he was.

His legs gave out beneath him.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Drizzt came around quickly; his muscles still oddly relaxed and not entirely his own, his heart fluttering in his chest. His face was flat against the smooth stones, his arms were numb and weightless.

Weightless, he realized. He had let Artemis go.

Let him fall to his death.

Something lurched inside him. He felt sick; dizzy, horrified. The dagger digging into his side didn’t help nor the shadow looming over him.

Dahlia was still standing over him. Laughing. Calling to Tiago to join her.

His hands were steady as he found the dagger at his side, just below his ribs. He felt its hungry magic blend with his own boiling anger, and the next few moments blurred past him. Drizzt hooked his leg around Dahlia’s ankle and pulled her to the ground. He used the momentum of her fall to push himself up from the stone, swiftly following her descent to pin her to the stones.

He barely registered the fear in her eyes as he sank the jeweled dagger into one of them, urging it to feed in spite of himself. He was going to kill her, and she was going to feel it.

Or, at least, that was what he had wanted.

However, an intense force collided with his shoulder and back, knocking him aside and leaving him winded and struggling against tight sliken bonds; webs that bound his limbs to his torso and kept him pinned on the ground. Drizzt thrashed desperately, lavender fires burning brightly in his eyes as he watched the wounded Dahlia crawl away to saftey behind Tiago’s shield.

Tiago leveled his sword at the ranger, “Well,” he laughed, “this seems a bit more fair, doesn’t it?”

Drizzt only snarled at him.

The Baenre laughed, “You know, I could just kill you now; prove myself better than my grandfather in every way, and earn power and station. Or, I could take you alive, earn the favor of my matron and her goddess and ensure your eternal suffering.” He clicked his tongue thoughtfully, “Decisions, decisions.”

“Kill him now,” Dahlia shrieked.

Tiago shook his head, brandishing the blade and running his gloved hand along its glass surface, enacting its magic and pulling a sweet song from its sparkling wonder.

Drizzt resisted the magic for as long as he could, levelling a hateful, burning glare, not at Tiago, but Dahlia. She tried to hold the stare with her uninjured eye, but found that she couldn’t manage it. He felt himself drifting, slowly, but drifting closer to blackness nonetheless. His thrashing slowed and his eyes fluttered. He was captured, and resigned himself to that fate.

Until he heard Guenhwyvar’s roar.

She came, a bounding missile of black muscle, colliding with Tiago’s back, sending him sprawling and roaring angrily at the back of his head. Her claws tore rents in his back as she lept off of him and to her fallen master. She pawed and tugged at the webbing, aided by Drizzt’s own movements as he regained energy in the absence of the song.

Tiago and Dahlia scurried away together, toward Ravel Xorlarrin’s desperate shouts for escape. Their line of dead had fallen, the Shadovar had abandoned them, they needed to flee if they intended to fight another day.

They were gone by the time Drizzt was free.

-0-0-0-0-0-

“This don’t look too good, kid,” Ambergris huffed as she assessed Effron’s injuries. He was torn up pretty badly, scratches on his legs and back and horrific damage to his gimp arm, and it was all she could do to stop the bleeding. “I might not be able to save yer arm.”

“It’s okay,” Effron wheezed, truly feeling the white-hot burn of his injuries now and finding even the simple task of breathing arduous, “I wasn’t using it anyway.” He tried to laugh but just wound up sputtering and slipping back into unconciousness.

Afafrenfere sighed, plopping to the ground beside the warlock. “It would seem we won the day. Drizzt and Entreri will be here to join us soon, it sounds like.”

“I wouldn’t get yer hopes up.” The dwarf pointed across the way, over the cluster of bodies toward the path the ranger and the assassin had taken at the start of the fight.

Drizzt was coming back to them, picking off the few zombies that still moved with his bow as he approached. Other than the panther at his side, the drow was alone, no Dahlia, no townspeople, no Artemis.

“Oh no,” Afafrenfere breathed, rising to meet the ranger, “What happened?”

Drizzt did not answer. He slung his bow back over his shoulder and dismissed the panther with a wave of his hand. The motion drew Afafrenfere’s eye to the drow’s hip, Entreri’s still bloodied dagger resting in a makeshift loop on his belt.

So he was dead then.

“Effron’s okay,” Afafrenfere said, hoping to do some good in a dark situation, “He might lose his bad arm, but he’ll live, and he got Quick’s staff back.” The ranger’s eyes locked on him. “Draygo Quick was responsible for the undead. He used the skull-lord’s staff. Amber and I managed to hold the dead off long enough for Effron to get to him,” the monk explained.

Drizzt didn’t ask any follow-up questions. He moved to Effron’s side and, when Ambergris gave them the go-ahead, helped Afafrenfere lift the warlock and carry him back to town.

The monk tried to ask Drizzt what had happened with the hostages, and received succinct, bitter answers. The taken townspeople were spies for the drow that had been working against them. Effron had been right about Dahlia being a traitor. Ravel, Tiago, and Dahlia had gotten away. He refused to answer any questions about Artemis, not even reacting when asked, as if he could not hear the inquries at all.

They knew coming to Ashenglade was going to be a trap, but none had expected anything like this.

It was a long way back to Neverwinter.

-0-0-0-0-0-

The ranger hovered around them, stoically quiet, as the dwarf tended to their injuries. He did not step up to be healed, he did not ask questions, only observed long enough to make sure everyone was in good straits before leaving Effron’s room in favor his own. Afafrenfere tried to stop him.

“Stay with the rest of us tonight,” the monk offered, “It’s been a… hard day. None of us need to be alone right now.”

Drizzt stared at him coldly.

“Drizzt,” he pleaded, “please. Effron will want to talk to you when he wakes up-“

The ranger pulled away, retiring to his own room. The monk lingered just outside his door for several heartbeats, “You are free to join us,” he offered quietly, “should you change your mind. None of us will mind if you come in later. Just…” he struggled for words, and instead just let the offer hang in the air. When he heard no response, Afafrenfere sighed and walked away, back to his other companions in Effron’s room.

Drizzt’s strength faltered when the door shut behind him, and gave way completely when he heard the monk’s quiet, receeding footsteps. He fell to the floor, more collapsing than sinking, knees and elbows banging hard against the sturdy wood. His breath shook, as though his body was rejecting the life-giving air, thinking itself undeserving. His eyes burned and his teeth bit back what little sound he managed to make.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that, fighting back emotion and staring at the wood grain with burning eyes trying with everything he had in him to block the memory of what had happened the last time he’d been in this room. The light-hearted conversation, the quick hug, the affection, but it still krept up on him, and kept him on the floor. Eventually, exhaustion overtook him, and he went numb. Shakily, he rose from his hands and knees and stumbled to the bed, shedding armor and weapons as he went. He pulled the blanket tightly around his shoulders with a shiver, burying his face in what had been, as of the previous night, Artemis’s pillow on their temporarily shared bed.

The nights were growing colder.


	12. Four Days

It started as a gentle hand at the small of his back; carefully working out the tension that had settled along his spine. The hand made its way up his back and circled around his hip, callouses scraping against his smooth skin. A strong arm wrapped around him and pulled him close. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as the embrace warmed him and scratchy stubble rubbed against his shoulder.

Drizzt leaned into the touch; the tentative had at his side, the hot mouth against his neck. He leaned so far, he rolled over, returning the embrace and the kiss.

Things grew hazy, softer around the edges. His bedmate pinned him and a lock of soft hair brushed his cheek-

Surprised and confused, Drizzt cracked open his eyes. A pair of deep blue orbs stared back at him and an auburn halo obscured the edges of his vision.

“Catti?” he breathed, not sure how to react.

She smiled warmly at him, tucking her hair behind her ears before falling against him again; her kiss soft and slow.

Drizzt melted, but felt like his heart was in a vice.

What started off as a slow, loving show of affection quickly grew passionate and hungry. He pulled her close, needy. She pinned his wrists to the bed.

When he opened his eyes again, it wasn’t Catti-Brie staring down at him.

It was Dahlia. Her eyes wild and savage, her face a mask of madness and rage. She dug her nails into the skin of his wrists, snarling at him like wild dog. He struggled, but she overwhelmed him, keeping him pinned beneath her. She leaned in, laughing at his protests, and latched her teeth into his neck.

Drizzt shot bolt upright when he woke from the nightmare, coughing and sputtering, unable to take in enough of the cool night air. It was still dark outside and the inn was quiet. He sighed, waiting for grumblings to erupt beside his left hip, but none came.

“Artemis?” he whispered, reaching over to the human’s side of the bed, but feeling only cold linen under his palm.

Then he remembered that Artemis had not returned from Ashenglade with them.

He felt heavy. The weight pulled him down to the cold sheets. Drizzt pulled Artemis’s- what had been Artemis’s- pillow to him and tried to catch his breath as the memory flashed across his vision in the darkness. He saw the assassin’s face light up with hope when Drizzt caught him, and fall to solemn resignation as Dahlia’s dark shadow fell over them. The ranger squeezed his eyes shut tight enough to see stars and make his head ache. The smell of dust and down overrode his senses, and there was an undertone of something he couldn’t name; something subtle that reminded him of desert sand, hot sun, and ornery camels.

The Calimshan.

Artemis.

A ball blocked Drizzt’s throat and his already sore eyes started to burn. He tried in vain to breathe evenly and swallow the ball of emotion with gulps of air. It was not enough, though, and the emotion bubbled out of him; first as a cough, then a sniffle, and finally open, quiet, sobs.

He’d lost them all.

He stayed like that, trying to muffle the hitching of his breath in the down of the pillow, even though the feathers poked his skin, until the first grey lights of dawn streaked in through the window. Eventually his body grew too exhausted and his muscles forced him to relax again, pillow still wrapped in his arms protectively and he drifted off into the blackness of exhaustion.

He woke again to a soft knock on his door. The sun was up, and stung his swollen eyes as he tried to force them open. His head pounded and his arm was asleep. He felt sick. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, searching for the strength to answer the persistant knock on his door.

“Drizzt?” Afafrenfere’s voice called through the wood. “Drizzt, come downstairs and eat with us.”

The ranger felt his chest tighten in the pause that followed.

“Leave him,” Drizzt heard Ambergris say on to Afafrenfere. She didn’t sound frustrated or angry; in fact, she almost sounded sad.

Did Effron die too? Sometime in the night did his injuries take him the way of Artemis and so many others?

The ranger felt strangely numb to it all as he heard their footsteps fade away.

-0-0-0-0-0-

“I’m worried,” Afafrenfere said when they sat at there table and the dwarf hollered for a serving girl. “Between Effron and-“

The dwarf snorted, “Effron’ll be fine. He just needs a couple days’ rest.”

“I am less worried about Effron than I am about Drizzt,” the monk sighed swirling his glass of water. “Do you think he’ll recover?”

Ambergris sat quietly for several moments. “I dunno,” she said, once their food arrived, “I remember how you got about Parbid.” She poked at her food.

Afafrenfere mimicked the motion, “You don’t think he’ll…” He chewed his lip,  “You don’t think he’ll do something foolish, do you?”

“I hope not, lad.” The cleric sighed, “I hope not.”

They ate their meal in tense, tired silence. When they finished, they went back upstairs; Ambergris checked on Effron, Afafrenfere on Drizzt.

He knocked quietly, resolving that if there was no response he was going to pick the locks open. “Drizzt?”

“Yes, Afafrenfere?” A tired, scratchy version of Drizzt’s voice called back.

Surprised, Afafrefere hesitated. “Good morning,” he finally settled on, and winced at himself. Not exactly the best thing to say. He sighed, “How… How are you holding up?”

Silence. Prolonged silence. Afafrenfere shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot awaiting a response.

“Drizzt?” he asked when waiting became too much.

“I’m fine,” the ranger replied, still not opening the door. Both of them knew it was a lie, but Afafrenfere was kind enough to not call him out on it. “How is Effron?”

The monk wanted to talk more about the ranger’s state of mind, but realized that probably wouldn’t be an option, “He’ll be alright. Just needs some rest. Amber couldn’t save his arm though; perhaps he’ll be better off without it.”

He heard Drizzt make an affirmative noise on the other side of the door.

“Would you like to join us?” the monk asked, “Effron will want to speak with you when he wakes, and…” he trailed off, thinking better of it than to tell Drizzt that he and Amber were worried the drow would fall to pieces without Artemis.

“And what, Afafrenfere?”

“I’d prefer it if we were together. Just in case Dahlia tries to pull another trick and spirit one of us away,” he lied.

Another long silence.

“Just get me when Effron wakes.” Drizzt said, and after that the ranger refused to answer questions or respond to knocking. After several attempts, Afafrenfere returned to Effron’s room, defeated.

“He won’t budge,” the monk sighed.

Ambergris rolled her eyes, “Give him some time to himself to grieve, boy. He’ll come to us when he’s ready. Just relax.” She watched the monk collapse into a chair and shook her head, “He’ll come out when Effron wakes up or if Neverwinter needs him.”

But the monk was not reassured.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Dahlia touched the tender skin of her cheek just below her injured eye and adjusted her eyepatch. It didn’t quite fit and dug a bright red line on the edge of the now-empty socket. She groaned, attempted to adjust the patch a second time, and then decided to just leave it, slouching in her chair.

A hand gripped her chin from the safety of her blind side and yanked her back and to the side to face the terrible visage of an enraged Tiago Baenre. “You said he would be an easy catch,” he growled, “And yet all three of us our injured and he still roams free.” He smiled and Dahlia suddenly felt more fearful than she had when she’d first come to him and he handcuffed her to a cot. “Care to explain to me how in the nine Hells that is supposed to spell success?”

Dahlia tried to answer but the drow’s tight grip on her face kept her mouth clenched shut. She had managed to avoid him all day, but knew that as long as she was in Gauntlgrym this kind of confrontation was unavoidable. Well, at least he’d waited until nightfall to sink his claws into her. After some struggling, she freed herself enough to respond. “Do’Urden is weakened,” she said, “vulnerable. He will slip, and when he does he will fall hard. I nearly killed him in such a state.”

“Nearly?” Tiago laughed.

“Entreri intervened, and now he is dead,” she replied. “When Drizzt falls, no one will be able to catch him but us.”

Tiago backed off a bit, but still maintained his scowl. He folded his arms across his torso with a huff and winced with pain at the motion. The bandages around his shoulders had already turned a pale pink from the day's wear. The ranger’s cat had left him with some serious wounds, but he carried them well.

 “So this was part of your plan?” he asked, nodding to her eye.

“I was not expecting it to go quite this way, no,” she confessed. “But, this will work in our favor, I assure you. He will fall on his sword for his ghost. Such is his way.”

That seemed to pacify the ill-tempered drow.

“What do we do now?”

“We wait to get him alone. It should not take long. A few days, perhaps?”

Tiago scowled again, “Where?”

“I cannot be sure. We should keep an eye on him.”

The Baenre pursed his lips in thought. “Get to it then.”

She thought he’d say something like that.

-0-0-0-0-0-

The second night alone had been more difficult than the first. The uniquely Calishite scent that his bedmate had left in the linen had all but vanished over the course of the day and Drizzt was stuck lying awake in the deepening gloom listening to the city fall asleep.

He’d spent the whole day in the inn room, trying not to look at Artemis’s pack of possessions trying to figure out how he would be able to pull himself together enough to converse with Effron when the boy woke from his restorative slumber. Drizzt contemplated summoning Guenhwyvar for company, but shook his head.

“If someone told me fifty years ago that I would mourn the passing of Artemis Entreri as intensely as I did my companions, I would have laughed in his face,” Drizzt sighed into the darkness. “And perhaps then it would have been true. What has gotten into me?

“How could I have let him get to me this way? He was my enemy. He tried to kill my friends, the woman I loved. He tried to kill  _me_. And yet, here I am, pining for his presence in the dark like a star-crossed lover.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I cannot sleep, for closing my eyes shows me the moments before his fall. I cannot eat for the guilt of letting him die when I could have saved him ties my stomach in knots. I long for his advice.” Drizzt’s heart ached. “I long for his calm and pragmatic rationale. I long for the sharp bite of his wit or the mirror he held before my eyes, making sure I do not fog it with the breath of my denials.

“I can lie to myself all I want without him here to tell me not to,” Drizzt laughed to himself, but realized immediately that the statement was no longer valid. “No.” He sat up. “I can’t lie to myself anymore.” Drizzt buried his face in his hands, pressing his palms against his aching eyes. He looked over to the empty half of the bed, darkened by his shadow against the silvery moonlight. “I’m sorry, Artemis. I don’t believe I truly got a chance to repay you. I did not deserve your confidence, your support, your affection. And I gave you so little in return.”

A small part of him knew that wasn’t entirely true, but he felt better for saying it.

A faint shimmer caught his eye as he sat and against his better judgement Drizzt’s gaze honed in on it. It twinkled at him but despite his squinting Drizzt couldn’t tell what it was.

He rose, feeling out of place in his own skin, and approached it. He touched the cold steel and chewed his lip as the metal sapped the warmth from his fingertips. Artemis’s shaving razor. The assassin must have left it out thinking that they were staying in Neverwinter extendedly.  It was resting on a dark leather case. Absently, Drizzt flipped the razor in his hand. It was surprisingly heavy despite the light material of the blade, most of its weight centered in the handle beneath the soft leather of the grip. The ranger realized what he was doing and put the blade away in its case, slotted beside a small mirror and…

A small black stone glittered in the dim light. An earring impaled in the leather for safe-keeping.

Dahlia’s black diamond stud.

Drizzt shut the case and stared at the leather for several heartbeats attempting to remember how to breathe. Tiago hadn’t ripped the earring from Dahlia’s ear. Artemis had. He had pushed her away. When? Why?

He felt dizzy.

The normally graceful ranger stumbled backwards, sitting on the foot of the bed.

“Did you send her away to protect me? Or yourself for saving me?” Drizzt asked the shadows, “Or both? Why? Why would you make yourself a target like that you knew how she reacts to rejecti-“

Dahlia hadn’t been trying to kill Drizzt in Ashenglade.

Artemis had been her target.

“Why didn’t we see it? Why didn’t you tell me?” he whimpered, “I would have protected you instead of going for her.” He cursed under his breath for a while, shaking his head and fighting back the pain that had been coming to him in waves all day.

Drizzt Do’Urden did not sleep that night.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Draygo quick stared at the envelope on his desk. His name written in a dark, flowing script, and a deep purple wax seal held it closed.

The messenger did not say who had sent the letter, claiming a string of messengers had brought the parcel to him.

The warlock held the letter in his hands, holding it to the light and trying to read the words inside, but they were jumbled. He sighed, rooting around in his desk for his letter opener, hoping for the best. Perhaps this was the information about the Sonnet Kimurriel had promised him.

He popped the wax seal with a twist of the tiny blade and unfolded the parchment.

“Draygo,” he read aloud, “It has come to my attention that you have disobeyed my request for you to keep your paws off of Do’Urden and his group. As I told you, this is a slight that I shall not tolerate…” His voice trailed off as he scanned the rest of the letter. No open threats, nothing he could use to discern just what type of retribution Kimmuriel would enact; only scathing criticism and professional insults.

He sighed again, this time relieved that some sort of trap had not been laid for him.

“Expecting explosions?” The psionicist’s voice called behind him.

Quick jumped, knocking over several books with the motion. He could hear the drow laughing at him.

“I thought about it,” Kimmuriel continued, strolling about the office like he owned the place. “Seemed a bit flashy for my taste.”

“And what does your  _taste_  dictate you should give me in return for my… impertinence?”

Kimmuriel laughed at the nervousness in the warlock’s voice, “I am not entirely sure, yet. I told you not to stand against me-“

“To be fair,” Draygo argued, “I wanted nothing to do with Do’Urden. I wanted my betrayers and the elf woman. Do’Urden could rot for all I cared.”

“That wasn’t the point.” Kimmuriel snarled, and immediately backed off. “I spent recent days assessing the damage you and Tiago’s little plan did to Jarlaxle’s men, and the fact that you took out a dozen of them is the only thing that stayed my hand from violence.” He smiled coyly, “But, you  _will_  leave Do’Urden and his team  _alone_  until I tell you otherwise, or my next visit will not be so pleasant. One more casualty to his group and I will hold you personally responsible for whatever happens.”

Draygo stared daggers at him.

“Do you understand me?”

Draygo nodded.

The matter settled between them, Kimmuriel took his leave, only to have his vacated space in Quick’s office replaced by the Shifter not seconds later. “What was that about?”

Quick picked up several books and threw them at her projected image in a rage. She raised her eyebrows at him.

“The Sundering is coming,” he snarled, “and I am being held hostage by some  _dark elf_  who thinks he’s the greatest thing to grace Toril. I have no answers to my questions, no prisoners in my dungeon and  _nothing_ to show for my efforts but a few burns and a lost weapon.” His rage calmed a bit. “Why are you here?”

She blinked at him, temporarily stunned by the outburst. “I have come to discuss the issue of Szass Tam and Dahlia. Eventually the lich will come to collect and we will have to deliver. I hoped to leave here with a plan.”

“Only if you have an idea of how to get her without setting the psionicist off.”

“You know as well as I do that she and Do’Urden are no longer on good terms,” the woman replied, hands on her hips. “And any hope of reconciliation was quashed in Ashenglade.”

“What do you mean?” Draygo asked, ears perking up at that last part.

“She killed his lover,” The Shifter explained, relaying the information she had gathered over the two days she spent in Neverwinter while Draygo recovered from the shock Effron had given him. “I don’t think that is something someone like Do’Urden would easily forgive.”

The warlock visibly calmed. “This is good,” he said, “this is very good. We may just be able to cover our backsides yet.”

“That’s what I was hoping for,” the Shifter replied with a smirk. “So, how do we pry Tiago’s informant from him?”

-0-0-0-0-0-

Ambergris was pounding on his door demanding he come down stairs with two of them and eat dinner. She threatened to break in the door if he didn’t answer and said she refused to let him try to starve himself with his misery. Drizzt tried to shrug it off, but when the wood of the door began to bow under the strength of her blows, he knew she was to be taken seriously. With a groan, Drizzt hauled himself out of bed and went with the cleric and the monk downstairs.

They took a shaded corner table, trying to avoid the pitying eyes of the townspeople. Rumors had started about what had happened after the drow raid, but no one had the courage to ask the group for the truth. Though, judging from their somber looks and the state of one and the absence of another, most could guess that the rumors weren’t far from the mark.

“The city’s almost rebuilt,” Ambergris said, not wanting to settle for the tense silence Drizzt and Afafrenfere seemed to enjoy, “Even without the townspeople Tiago took-“

“The spies,” Drizzt corrected.

Ambergris nodded, but continued with her point, “The city is on the mend, and Effron should be up soon, I think we should decide where we go from here.”

Afafrenfere tried to hide the sidelong glances he cast between the drow and the dwarf, but failed miserably.

“What do you mean?”

“We have to move forward,” Ambergris said, “ye know, figure out how to deal with our growing pest-control problem. Draygo Quick’s workin’ with the dark elves, the durned coal-skins are in Gauntlgrym,  _and_  they’ve got a traitor that knows our secrets among ‘em. We can’t let this go uncontested. I know ye just lost someone close to ye.” She made a noticeable effort to emphasis that it was Drizzt that had lost someone, not the group. The ranger wasn’t sure how to take that, but something in the back of his mind bristled as if insulted. “But that,” she continued, “doesn’t mean that the world has stopped turnin’ and our lives are any more safe.”

Drizzt let his gaze drop to his barely touched plate. He couldn’t say that she was wrong. “Let us wait until Effron awakens,” he said after several moments, “He knows Quick better than we do, and his input will be invaluable.”

Ambergris tried to argue, but Afafrenfere stopped her, “He’s right. Better to have all of us involved.”

The dwarf rolled her eyes at the two of them. “Alright then. We’ll wait, but if he doesn’t wake soon, we make the decision without him.” She rose from the table then, leaving them alone with each other.

“There is a chance Effron may not wake for several days,” Afafrenfere said quietly as he rose to follow the priest, “you would do well to come up with an idea soon. A lot is at stake here, Drizzt.”

“I know.”

The monk sighed, “I know you do, but whether you will be able to act on that knowledge is uncertain.”

As the human departed, Drizzt felt that little something in the back of his mind bristle again. With a deep breath, Drizzt handed off his plate to a pair of children that had been eyeing it from the next table since it had gone cold and retreated back upstairs.

The ranger hesitated when he reached his door. The door to Effron’s room stood slightly ajar, soft light pouring out into the darkness of the hallway. Drizzt couldn’t help himself. He crossed the hall and peeked in.

The furniture had been moved around to accommodate several basins of water, some littered with herbs known to promote healing, others just clear and clean. Strips of linen, meant to serve as bandages, rested in loose bundles on one of the bedside tables. The curtains were drawn, but not completely and an orange sliver of light streaked through the room and out the door, casting a dim light in the rest of the chamber. Ambergris had set up a small shrine to her deity on the far side of the room, and the candles still flickered happily in her absence. Effron lay in center of it all, seeming better off than Drizzt would have thought. He slept comfortably, blankets drawn up about his chest and the bandages that bound what was left of his shoulder clearly visible and still, mostly, clean.

Drizzt leaned against the door and watched the boy breathe.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Saribel pressed the cold, damp cloth to his arm with more force than Ravel thought was necessary. Instinctively, he winced and pulled his arm away.

The priestess groaned in frustration, “Ravel, you’ve had that wound for three days, get over yourself.”

The spellspinner scowled at her, snatching the cloth and tending to his wound.

“So what were you doing in Ashenglade?” The woman asked, leaning back in her chair. “Tiago have some elaborate scheme that went totally awry?” She laughed when Ravel didn’t answer. “Why Ashenglade, though, I wonder? Is there something that we missed when we raided last time?” She continued to muse aloud until Ravel could stand it no longer:

“Why don’t you ask Tiago? It was all his idea,” he sneered.

Saribel raised an eyebrow at him, “I doubt that,” she replied, “I think it was all his  _informant’s_  idea.” The spellspinner avoided her gaze and she knew she’d hit a nerve. Time to press: “Who is he? One of Jarlaxle’s men? Someone from the surface?”

Ravel still would not answer. The priestess, tired of the game, grabbed her brother’s wounded arm, digging her fingers into the still-painful gash, and twisted sharply. The spellspinner howled and fell from his chair to her feet. “If I find out that you are involved in something you shouldn’t be,” she snarled in his face “I will ensure that you find a very special place in the drider clan.”

He swallowed hard and she twisted again, “What did he promise you to keep his little secret, hmm? Power? Coin? Station?” Her brother’s lip curled, but she didn’t relent, “Or matron has entrusted you with a very important task, and you would throw it all away for the crazed obsession of a Baenre? What will you do when he fails? Share in the disgrace and punishment? Or take the fall for him entirely as you know he will force you to.”

That gave Ravel pause. It was not a far-fetched notion to think that Tiago would scapegoat him should things go wrong. And things were going very wrong, very quickly. He chewed the inside of his lip, “If I tell you, you must do something for me.”

She squeezed his arm, eliciting a sharp yelp.  “You think you are in a position to give me orders?”

“Not orders,” he whimpered through gritted teeth, “a request, so that we both might see payoff for his exposure.” She loosened her grip, “I tell you who, and what, Tiago’s informant is, but you stay your hand. When they fail, his informant will be ripe to be imprisoned and you can turn that informant over to Matron Zeerith, and turn Tiago in to Matron Quenthel. That will gain you favor with our mother and get the Baenre’s out of our hair while we finish the settlement in Gauntlgrym.”

“And what will you gain?”

“Your favor, and one less person trying to take over my project,” Ravel laughed. “Can we come to an agreement?”

Saribel thought about the offer for several moments, eventually nodding her consent and releasing him. Ravel told her what he thought was necessary; a name, a race, a failed plot. He also told her about Jarlaxle’s warning and that he believed it may spell Dahlia’s doom before they even had to waste their time so long as they did not interfere with the course of events. “Quenthel will not be pleased,” Saribel said once Ravel had said his piece. “How long should we hold this information?”

The spellspinner looked at her curiously, “I am not sure. At least until Dahlia meets a comeuppance  whether Tiago imprisons her or Do’Urden kills her is of no matter to us, but it will spell glorious failure for Tiago and we can send him home to his Matron in defeat.”

“He will never bother us again at that rate,” she smiled.

“Indeed.”

-0-0-0-0-0-

Effron woke a little after midday on the group’s third day back. Ambergris littered him with questions almost immediately, most of them pertaining to how he felt and if he thought he could function normally without assistance. The young warlock took it all in stride, laughing off the dwarf’s concern and propping himself up on his pillow, “I’m okay, Ambergris,” he slurred, wobbling as he sat, “honestly. Where are Drizzt and Af-Aff-“ his tongue refused to comply and pronounce the monk’s name correctly.

The dwarf snorted and handed him a wooden cup willed with a steaming… something. Effron eyed it warily, crinkling his nose at the smell, “Ol’ recipe from my da’s side o’ the family. It’ll make ye heal faster.” She shoved the cup into his hand. “C’mon,” she laughed, “drink it.”

Effron brought the cup to his mouth and made a face, “It smells of rancid meat.”

“Just drink it, princess.”

Effron quirked an eyebrow at her, confused, “’Princess’? Is that meant to insult me?”

Ambergris almost went into a litany about how, if he did not drink her remedy, she would force feed it to him, but Drizzt and Afafrenfere poked their heads in the door. “ ‘Bout time,’” she snorted, “I need to gather some things, ye two think ye can keep him still long enough for me to go and come back?”

“I feel fine,” Effron protested.

“Don’t move, kid,” Ambergris snapped back, and with that she was out the door to collect her supplies.

Afafrenfere’s eyebrows rose as he looked from the dwarf, to Effron, to the cup in the warlock’s hand, “What is that?”

Effron held it out to him, “I think it’s some kind of tea. Here, try it.”

The monk took the glass and paused, “It reeks.”

“It’s dwarf tea. It tastes better than it smells. Just try a sip,” Effron smiled disarmingly and Afafrenfere shrugged and complied.

“Ugh, it’s awful!” he spat, handing the cup back to Effron.

Effron laughed.

“That’s not tea at all is it?” Drizzt chuckled as Afafrenfere coughed and sputtered, contorting his face weirdly.

The warlock shrugged, “Ambergris said it was some kind of medicine. I had to be sure it wasn’t poison.”

“You thought it was poison and had me drink it?” the monk cried in outrage.

“I said to only take a sip,” Effron corrected. “That way you would have only gotten minorly sick.”

“You bastard,” the human gasped.

Effron only laughed. “It is not my fault you are so gullible.”

Not wanting to hear any more, the monk stormed out of the room. Drizzt remained in the doorway, watching him disappear down the stairs before turning to Effron. “I see you’re in good spirits.”

The boy smiled, “Why wouldn’t I be? I bested Draygo Quick, got my staff back, and got my gimp arm removed. Not to mention we won the day in Ashenglade.” The longer he held Drizzt’s gaze, the more his smile fell, “We  _did_  win the day, right? What did I miss?”

“You were right,” Drizzt said, closing the door and standing at the foot of Effron’s bed, “Dahlia was a traitor. She’d give us all up to Tiago.”

“That harpy!” He growled, but calmed, “That’s not all is it?”

Drizzt explained about the townspeople being spies, and how Quick was actually allied with Tiago and Dahlia, using the undead to bolster their force instead of just some odd coincidence. He went on about not being able to kill Dahlia, and Tiago getting away with her and some of the other elves while he was incapacitated by the Baenre’s web.

Effron nodded solemnly. “That’s unfortunate, but surely we can take them on again. Particularly if Darygo is no longer with them. Between you and Artemis-“ Drizzt’s expression changed and the young warlock stopped his sentence short. He paled a bit, lower lip twitching a bit, “Where is Entreri?”

“He’s…” Drizzt hesitated, tugging at the hem of his shirt. Effron tilted his horned head curiously; he couldn’t remember Drizzt owning any black shirts, but this particular article looked like it had been well worn, faded at the shoulders, elbows, and underarms. “He’s gone. He fell from the cliffs in Ashenglade during the fight.”

“Did you guys bury him without me, then?” Effron tried to hide the disappointment in his voice.

Drizzt blinked at him. They hadn’t even discussed returning to Ashenglade to recover Entreri’s corpse and give him a proper funeral. Guilt gripped him like a fever’s chill and he realized Effron was still talking.

“It would probably be pointless anyway,” Effron sighed, “The dead would have eaten him pretty quickly and there wouldn’t be much to recover.”

Sickness roiled in the ranger’s stomach at the thought.

“Drizzt?”

“You should take it easy,” the drow managed to breathe in response, inching his way to the door. “Ambergris will be back soon, try not to anger her with your stubbornness.”

“Drizzt-“ Effron called, stopping the ranger, “Drizzt, she will suffer for this. For these betrayals. Do not blame yourself for her crimes, you do not deserve to suffer too.”

Drizzt nodded, “Thank you, Effron.” And he ducked out the door.

The young warlock sighed and leaned heavily against his pillow, glaring at the cup in his hand. The woman just couldn’t stop taking things that did not belong to her. No. Not things. Lives. Lives that were not hers to take. She had to be punished.

A wave of sadness rolled through him on the back of indignant anger, and he threw the little wooden cylinder across the room with an angry noise. He pulled a pillow from behind him and rested it across his bent knees, using it to muffle frustrated and sorrowful screams.

Night and tortured rest could not come quickly enough.

-0-0-0-0-0-

“It’s been three days,” Jarlaxle grumbled, “Could your magic work any more slowly? We still have to find out what exactly happened in Ashenglade.”

They’d gotten to the stronghold late in the fight. Undead corpses had littered the ground and the sounds of combat were dying on the wind. It was only by luck, that Jarlaxle claimed was his, that they had gotten there in time to see any of the fight at all.

“My talents are specific and powerful, but perfection takes time, Jarlaxle,” Arunika assured him, “You are lucky anything is coming of this at all.”

“I thought you said your runes--?”

“They  _do_ ,” she argued for the hundredth time, cutting him off before he could tell her what her own magic was capable of again, “and that is enough. You want fast magic, do it yourself.”

The drow deflated. “You win,” he said. “We wait, then we investigate.”

“You are impatient,” the woman said, toying with her crystal ball, “Just give it time.”

Jarlaxle slumped in his chair, “I have to leave by tomorrow night, Arunika. I expect to see results by then.”

“You will.”

“Oi!” The drow and the woman turned to see Athrogate standing in the darkened doorway. The dwarf clicked his tongue, jerking his head to the side and gesturing for them to follow as he disappeared on the other side.

Jarlaxle was out of his chair and crossing the room before Arunika even realized what the signal meant.


	13. Wrath of the Hunter

There was a dwarf sitting on his chest, or a boulder, or Do’Urden’s cat. Whatever it was, it was heavy and he struggled to breathe through it without pressure or bolts of electric pain shooting through his entire person. He tried to move his arms, to shift and dislodge the weight, but his arms bore a similar pain, but were just numb enough to be beyond his control. He blinked his eyes open with a substantial amount of effort.

“Good to see,” a familiar voice said beside him, “I thought that would take much longer.” A soft hand brushed strands of hair from his brow making him wince. “He’s still in pain.”

The soft hand snaked around the back of his neck, holding his head up. He felt a cold glass pressed to his lips, and bitter, burning liquid pass between them. He wanted to cough as his throat closed against the foreign substance, but didn’t have the air in his lungs to do so. He gasped when person bearing the voice and vial relented and layed him back down.

Heartbeats passed and breathing became easier. Still painful, but it was a start. He felt as thought he could control his arms again with some effort and his vision cleared. He scanned the small room and it’s simple furnishings, his eyes locking on the familiar faces that surrounded him.

“What?” he tried to sit up fully, but it was a struggle, “Where am I?”

“Try and be still,” the voice that had greeted him, “Let the magic do its work.”

“Arunika?”

“Good to see he hasn’t lost his memory,” Athrogate laughed.

“How do you feel, Artemis?” Jarlaxle asked.

The assassin laid back down and stared at the ceiling, “Like I fell off a cliff, died, and went to hell.”

“Close enough,” Arunika shrugged, turning on her heel to leave.

The wounded assassin and the drow stared at each other for quite some time. Neither wanting to be the first to speak, but both knowing they would have to talk to each other at some point. Athrogate was finally the one that broke the silence: “Ye wanna tell us what happened in Ashenglade?”

Entreri took as deep a breath as he could manage, “Dahlia betrayed us to Tiago and used Do’Urden’s bleeding heart to lead us into a trap. She’d reactivated the place or something, it was crawling with undead, and they pulled me off the cliff. I’m assuming you saved me?”

“As well as we could,” Jarlaxle nodded, “You’re lucky to be alive. If we hadn’t gotten there when we did you would be done for.”

“Hmm…” Artemis was drifting, he could feel it. Jarlaxle didn’t fight him on it and let him fall asleep.

He sighed with relief. Entreri was alive, and that was all that mattered right now.

The dwarf sighed too, “Well, that’s one mystery solved. Now what?”

“Now,” Jarlaxle replied, “we breathe a little easier.”

-0-0-0-0-0-

He dreamt of Dahlia that night. He dreamt of her damning laughter and crazed visage. He dreamt of her scornful words and superior attitude and how she seemed to force the world to revolve around her, her wants, and her needs. He dreamt of everything he tried to tell himself she wasn’t, and everything she had turned out to be. He dreamt of her betrayal.

He woke on the brink of rage.

Drizzt rose quickly, busying himself in an attempt to stave off his anger as he dressed and got ready for the day, but it wasn’t enough. He was antsy and anxious. He knew the others were going to want to speak to him about their plans and, if he was going to be honest with himself, he didn’t really want anything to do with that. The ranger tried to resist the building ball of fire in his belly, even going so far as to put Artemis’s things away.

He paused when got to the bottle of Gold Fire. There was still a third of the bottle’s worth of liquor swishing against the glass, swirling with color. He popped the cap and brought it to his nose. Warm spice and pungent alcohol coupled with memories of a cave in Icewind Dale and image burned into his mind one morning in an inn room not unlike the one he was currently in.

He took a swig and savored the burn as it washed some of his anger away.

The ranger plopped back down on the bed, liquor swishing in the bottle as he did so. “What is wrong with me?” he sighed. “I feel like I’m losing my mind; like I cannot control my emotions anymore. Artemis Entreri, what have you done to me? I can’t lie to myself, I can’t control myself, I’m surprised I can even function.” He took another swig.

“Dahlia,” he growled, “why? What possessive, selfish urge drove you to this? Have I really slighted you so severely?” The growl turned into a groan, “All because did not love you? Or want to sleep with you? Or whatever it was you had wanted from me. Are you really so vengeful?”

Another swig.

“Two can play that game I suppose,” he laughed, the warmth of the alcohol starting to spread through him. “I don’t have to let this crime go unpunished.”

The mirth died, however, with a sidelong glance to the door, “But what of the others? They’re expecting me to help them…

“Help them come up with a plan to protect the villagers from my poachers,” he hung his head, “This feels awfully familiar,” he said with a laugh.

He remembered going to Menzoberranzan alone in an attempt to protect his companions all those years ago. Drizzt kicked himself mentally for that mistake.

Another swig. There was a quarter of the bottle left.

The ranger leaned back on the bed, hearing the assassin’s shaving kit rattle beside him. He reached over with his free hand and popped open the leather case. Steel and sliver sparkled at him, cheery as ever. The black diamond stud glittered at him too.

Drizzt wondered if Dahlia had gotten the chance to shift it to her left ear for him. That stupid little piece of jewelry had been a small, sharp barb in his side. The inane danger she had so carelessly thrown herself into to get it. The insane length he had to go to save her. What it implied. The drow ground his teeth.

What had she wanted from him? His heart? She certainly didn’t act like it. His trust? His… He groaned again. “Damn it, Dahlia.”

He felt the anger bubble up inside him again, fueled by the warmth of the alcohol in his system.

Drizzt was torn. He didn’t want to repeat his mistakes, but he didn’t want to let this go so easily. He wanted to watch her die. To watch her suffer.

To see the light leave her eyes.

-0-0-0-0-0-

She was watching him drink himself into oblivion; this could not be more perfect. A drunk and emotionally compromised Do’Urden ready to run into battle with no thought for his own life.

Tiago would get his prize, and Drizzt would suffer.

Dahlia almost wanted to laugh when he started talking to himself, but knew she’d give away her cover.

She mused about what the dark elves would do to him once Tiago brought the ranger to his matron. Would they torture him or just sacrifice him to their goddess? What sort of payoff might she be able to reap from such a bargain?

Perhaps a full alliance with the drow would be in order. Do’Urden wasn’t the only man she had information on. Dahlia snickered quietly in spite of her better judgement.

Oh yes, this would be glorious.

She saw Drizzt rise and pace about the room, swinging and almost empty bottle of liquor as he argued with himself.

Glorious _and_ easy.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Drizzt knew he’d never be able to justify it. Not to himself, to his companions, or anyone else, but the fire in his heart demanded that he not care. It screamed at him to go and get revenge. Revenge would mean one less problem for them, even if it put his life in danger.

He didn’t have to give himself up to the Baenres again to protect his friends. That kind of sacrifice would be insane, and only met with resistence.  But he had to kill Dahlia.

His soul yearned for her death.

Drizzt slipped on his gear. He was no assassin, but he what he was: a drow and a ranger of no small skill, would be close enough for this. Dahlia would no doubt have her guard down thinking herself victorious at the end of the day for killing Entreri. Drizzt was determined to prove her wrong.

Once he was dressed and ready to head out the door, he stopped. A knot twisted in his stomach.

This wasn’t right. The tear between his conscience and his rage threatening to rip him in two. Drizzt backed away from the door, leaning against the footboard of the bed and downing the rest of the liquor. He dropped the bottle on the bed and heard it clink against the leather kit.

He could see the black diamond out of the corner of his eye; mocking him.

Dispatch with the right hand. Dispose with the left.

He pulled the stud free from the leather and tossed it back and forth in his hands, deciding what he wanted to do with it, when another image caught his eye.

The small silver mirror, tucked into a pouch beside the razor. The ranger took a moment to stare at his reflection, slightly alarmed by what he saw:

His eyes were dark, sunken in a bit. His skin was ashen, and draw tight about his features, a fact emphasized by his tied-back hair. The mithril links of his chain mail caught the darkness of his shirt, mimicking drow armor in a way that should have made him uncomfortable. Drizzt tried to shake the image out of his head, but the longer he stared at his reflection the less he saw himself, and instead saw his father.

Drizzt leaned in closer and a streak of light crossed his vision. A lock of hair, cut too short to be tied back, fell from the safety of the rest of its kin and landed across his brow. The drow couldn’t fight his smile, or the soft laugh that followed it.

It sounded more hysterical than he would have liked, and he hoped no one had heard it.

The black stud dug into his tightly clenched fist, and it bolstered his resolve. He knew what he was going to do with it and the woman it had been taken from.

This day was going to be a quick one.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Artemis stirred again several hours after his initial waking. He heard Jarlaxle ask Athrogate to leave them  over his pained coughs. Breathing was easier this time, even though his whole body still hurt. He was able to push himself up into a sitting position without too much trouble.

“How long have I been out?” He asked once the door had clicked closed.

“Recently or total?” Jarlaxle laughed, before answering, “Four days.”

“Where are the others? Do’Urden and his company.”

Jarlaxle made a face, “In Neverwinter I would imagine. It seems the logical place they would have retreated to.”

The dark anger that shadowed the assassin’s face would have scared a weak-hearted man, or even  a small, healthy child, to death. “What?” he snapped, “You mean they don’t know I’m here? They think I’m dead?”

“Is this a problem?”

“If it wasn’t a problem do you think I’d be asking these questions?” Artemis shouted, a cringe of pain stealing his expression. “You need to find them and tell them I’m here.”

Jarlaxle raised his eyebrows, “Nonsense. In a few days, Arunika’s magic will have done it’s work and you’ll be right as a rain and can just go back to them.”

“Jarlaxle,” Artemis struggled to keep his voice even, as if talking to an annoying toddler, “no. Do’Urden needed to know I was alive the _moment you saved me_. The fact that you waited four days is bad enough. We may already be too late.”

Jarlaxle frowned, “I… Too late for what?”

The assassin shook his head, “Go. Convince him to come here if he doesn’t believe you. Tell him I am alive. Do it now, before he does something reckless and gets himself killed.”

“You sound so concerned-“

“ _Jarlaxle!”_

The drow was taken aback by the sheer volume of the shout. Artemis Entreri was normally such a quiet man; Jarlaxle had not even thought his voice could reach such a volume, much less with several rapidly-healing broken ribs. “What should I tell him if he doesn’t believe me?”

“Jarlaxle, you could convince the very sky to change color if you so chose,” Artemis sank into his pillow, “just do this. If you _ever_ once thought of me as your friend, despite all of the betrayals, you would do this thing for me.”

The drow took a deep, slightly shaky breath, “Consider it done.”

The assassin sank deeper against the pillow. “Hurry.” And drifted off again.

Arunika caught Jarlaxle as he left. “Do not let Do’Urden die,” she warned, “Or we may both be doomed.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Athrogate snorted.

“It means you’re staying here until Artemis wakes up again,” Jarlaxle said, receiving a pair of outraged expressions and outbursts, “I’m only going to Neverwinter, and for a short period. I will be back before the sun begins to set. Just stay.” And he hurried out the door.

Arunika and Athrogate eyed each other warily.

“I do not like you much,” she said after a short while.

“I’m not to fond of ye either,” he replied, “Yer cookin’ is terrible.”

The woman crinkled her nose, “You ate an entire pot of my stew.”

“I’ll eat dirt if it so suits me,” the dwarf snorted before turning on his heel and returning to the back room to keep an eye on the assassin.

“You insufferable—“ she growled. “The sooner you get out of my house the better.”

-0-0-0-0-0-

Effron felt guilty for laughing at Afafrenfere as the monk tried to berate him for the little ‘poison tea’ stunt from the previous day. Ambergris should have known better than to leave them alone in a room together.

“I thought we had a thing,” Afafrenfere snorted, catching Effron’s laughter but trying to stay angry at the same time.

“A thing?” Effron chuckled, “What does that even mean?”

Afafrenfere’s laughter turned nervous, “I- um. Should not have said that.”

Curious, Effron pressed him, “Come on, what does it mean?”

“It…” the monk had some trouble putting words together and made a flustered noise, “Well, it means…I thought we were friends.”

“Oh.” Effron laughed, not understanding why that was such a difficult thing to say.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just thought you were going to say something really unsettling. Like confess your undying love for me,” Effron shrugged his shoulder, “Not just admit that we were friends like it was something we both didn’t already know.”

“Yeah-“

The sound of banging in the hallway interrupted their conversation. Afafrenfere sprang for the door, and Effron shakily followed behind him. Ambergris was waiting for them and watching a strangely dressed elf pound on Drizzt’s door.

“That’s the guy that saved us in Quick’s castle,” Afafrenfere said before he could stop himself.

“Aye,” the dwarf answered, “He says he’s got something important to tell Do’Urden.”

“But Drizzt isn’t answering his door,” the monk said.

“That’s what I told him.”

Jarlaxle, growing more visibly concerned, turned to them, “Are you sure he hasn’t left?”

“If he did, I didn’t see him,” Ambergris shrugged. “He’s been moody lately so we’ve been giving him some space.”

Jarlaxle made an angry noise, “Drizzt. Open the door.” He pressed his ear to wood panels. When he heard nothing, he took a deep breath, stepped back, and kicked the door in.

“Holy-“

“It’s empty.” Effron said, “He snuck out.”

Jarlaxle nodded, stepping over the broken door looking for some clue as the where the ranger may have gone. Nothing was obvious. A pair of packs rested at the foot of the bed, the room was neat, tidy, and surprisingly cool for the warm day. An ivroy charm and a black stone on the dresser caught his eye.

Drizzt’s necklace, covered with thin layer dust. It hadn’t been moved in days.

“Are you sure he was here yesterday?” Jarlaxle called, slipping the charm into his pocket.

“I spoke to him,” Effron said. “He seemed out of sorts.”

Jarlaxle sighed, pocketing the figurine as well, and stalking out of the room. He approached Effron, “Do you have any idea where he may have gone?”

“Ashenglade, maybe? To collect what’s left of Entreri… Though, I doubt it.” Effron pondered the question for a bit, and added, “Or Gauntlgrym to kill Dahlia.”

“What?” Ambergris roared, “That durned elf is going to get himself killed.”

Jarlaxle held up a steadying hand, not wanting to alarm the group. “I’ll ride for Ashenglade and see if I can find him. If I can’t I’ll send word for you to meet me in the tunnels outside of Gauntlgrym.” He darted toward the stairs, “Athrogate will show you the way.”

The group exchanged concerned glances before nodding affirmatively. They would be ready for battle by the time word got to them.

The drow clamly, but quickly, descended the stairs and, as soon as he was out of sight of the building, summoned his nightmare and rode hard for Arunika’s cabin.

Artemis had been right.

There was a chance they might be too late.

-0-0-0-0-0-

The tunnels were easy enough to navigate with stealth. The drow being largely unaware of any threat, because as far as they were concerned, there wasn’t one.

Drizzt Do’Urden had no desire for a high body count. Not today.

He let himself fall from a small alcove with barely a whisper of noise, taking off deeper into the complex.

Rage pushed him forward, it fought off the waves of despair that tried to pull him back into the fragility he had felt the previous days. The depression that would stray him from his course if it could. That fury that kept him silently running through the outskirts of the dwarven ruin, hiding in shadows and taking long winding routes searching for clues as to where Tiago might have Dahlia stashed.

The Hunter seeking his game.

All thoughts of conscience and comrades were slipping from him. The worry melting away.

He was close.

He could feel it. He could smell her in the air.

His jaw clenched in anticipation.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Ravel grabbed Tiago by the arm.

“What the-? Xolarrin, what are you doing?”

“Saribel knows.” Ravel said, “She knows about Dahlia.”

“What did you say?” Tiago grabbed ahold of the spellspinner and shook him violently, “What did you tell her?”

“I didn’t tell her a thing,” he said through chattering teeth, “She saw the raven coming to meet you an hour ago. I heard her talking to Berellip about what she wanted to do with it, and with you.”

“ _Vith_ -“ Tiago breathed, releasing the other drow. “She’ll try to kill her and me.”

“You aren’t safe here,” Ravel agreed, “Forget Dahlia, leave her here to die. Save yourself.”

Tiago scowled at him, “Why am I the only one that isn’t safe?”

Ravel scoffed, “Because you were the one that announced to the world that you had an informant.”

“You were in Ashenglade with me,” the Baenre argued, “that would make you accessory to whatever failure was to be had there.”

The Xolarrin laughed openly at him, “Do you want me to help you save yourself from the wrath of your matron, or what?”

Tiago’s scowl deepened, “What do you propose?”

Ravel grinned, “Get out of Gauntlgrym. Now. Take up with the Bregan D’aerthe until you can get back to Menzoberranzan with Do’Urden’s head on a platter. Your matron may be more inclined to forgive if you brought her such a gift. She may just let you live. Or, at least, she’ll kill you quickly.”

-0-0-0-0-0-

Athrogate nearly fell out of his chair when Jarlaxle burst in the door.

“We have a problem.” He said, “Get your pig.”

Athrogate stared dumbly at him.

“We have to go bust some heads,” Jarlaxle groaned with an impatient roll of his eyes, hoping the prospect of killing things would spur the dwarf into action.

It did.

“What’s going on?” Artemis asked, pushing himself up into a sitting position, trying to stand. “What happened?”

“Do you think you can walk?” Jarlaxle asked, helping him to his feet.

Artemis grunted with pain, but remained steady. “I think so, just don’t expect me to go very fast.”

Jarlaxle held out the carved unicorn head charm he’d plucked from Drizzt’s dresser and held it in front of the assassin. The man stared at it, stunned, before snatching it out of the drow’s hand, “Drizzt-“

“I need you to be able to ride a horse.”

Artemis took a deep breath, steadying himself on wobbling legs. “Okay.”

“Get your sword and your boots. I have to tell Athrogate where were going. Be ready when I come back.”

The assassin nodded curtly and Jarlaxle left him.

Artemis sat back down, searching the room for his things. His boots were tucked under the bed with his armor, his swordbelt was slung over the bedpost. He threw Drizzt’s charm over his head and set to the challenging task of lacing up his boots in short order without being able to bend at the waist.

What kind of trouble had the elf gotten himself into this time? Did he go after Tiago? Was he going to sacrifice himself again?

He would have had to have gone off the deep end to leave something as precious as his whistle for Andahar behind.

The assassin tried to not worry, but found the attempt took more effort than it normally would have. He blamed the injuries clouding his thoughts with pain and not the fact that he was actually worried Drizzt might already be dead or worse.

Jarlaxle’s hand on his shoulder jerked him back into reality. “Let’s go.”

They rode to the crossroads separating the way to Gauntlgrym and the way to Neverwinter before stopping. Artemis gasped and groaned, trying to fight through the constant pulse of agony his still-healing body was sending him, screaming that he lie back down and rest. Jarlaxle shouted some quick orders at Athrogate, to go into the city, meet up with Drizzt’s other comrades, and clear an escape route for them in Gauntlgrym. The dwarf trotted off on his boar and Jarlaxle turned his attention to Artemis.

“Drizzt also left this,” he said, producing the onyx figurine.

Artemis made a pained noise, “Obviously he doesn’t want any of his companions involved in this, man or beast.”

Jarlaxle nodded, “I’m thinking revenge.”

“Dahlia.”

Jarlaxle spurred his nightmare back into a gallop, feeling Artemis cling tightly to him in pain. “We’ll be there soon, you think you’ll survive?”

Soon my ass, Artemis thought. All he could manage to say was a whimpering noise that didn’t sound like much of a word.

It took all of his strength not to collapse entirely when they arrived at the entrance to the tunnels of Gauntlgrym. His vision doubled, then tripled, and darkened. His legs grew weak beneath him, but Jarlaxle held him steady. “Hang in there, old friend,” the drow encouraged him, “I need you to talk Drizzt out of whatever crazy thing he’s doing. Don’t die on me now.”

“I,” Artemis growled through the pain, “am not your friend.” And he plodded off past the drow and down the tunnel.

“Where do you think they’ll be?” Jarlaxle whispered as they ventured deep enough to be forced to switch to infravision.

“Somewhere on the outside,” Artemis hissed back, “He’s keeping her a secret, so the main complex and anything that goes deeper into the Underdark is right out. They might have a meeting place somewhere close to the surface.”

“That’s a lot of area to cover.” The drow sighed.

“Not if we know where to look,” Artemis dropped the onyx figurine, calling for the panther. Once summoned, Guen looked at him, confused, “I need you to help me find your master again,” the assassin told her.

Jarlaxle eyed them both curiously as the panter surveyed the area and Artemis gave her scraps of information. Eventually the cat bounded off down one of the branching paths, “Are you certain this will work?”

“Drizzt is her companion,” Artemis explained, “She will find him. They are… connected.”

“He does not have the figurine.” Jarlaxle argued.

Artemis scoffed, “That cat is no ordinary panther. Hells, she’s probably not even your average magical artifact at this point. She is a hunter. She will find him.” He tugged on the drow, attempting to drag him along and use him for support for his ever-weakening limbs. “This way.”

-0-0-0-0-0-

She huffed indignantly, tapping her foot on the stone and trying to not fuss with her eyepatch. After this she would demand to be treated properly at the very least.

Dahlia let the smirk creep on to her face when she heard the soft footsteps of a dark elf behind her. “It’s about time you got here.”

“I wasn’t aware you were expecting me.”

Dahlia whirled around to see the point of Drizzt Do’Urden’s scimitar pointed at the space between her eyes.

“Drizzt?” she smiled, “I wasn’t.”

“Better.”

She barely got her staff up in time to block the blows that followed. He hounded her, spinning a striking with a veroicity she’d never seen from him in the short time they were together. Each parried strike sent vibrations up her arm and the most intense attacks came from her blind side. Desperate, she tried to disarm him, and when that didn’t work she bolted.

But he was faster.

“You are a coward,” he accused, forcing her to back up, “and a traitor.”

Dahlia huffed at him. “Please.”

“I showed you friendship and you tried to kill me. I showed you mercy and you stole from me,” he snarled, purple fires flaring in his eyes, “I gave you more than you deserved and you spat at me.”

“It’s not my fault your heart bleeds for the wrong people.”

“My bleeding heart has nothing to do this,” he snapped, “ _you_ are foolish to think you could have accomplished anything but your own demise.”

She brandished her weapons, opting for a staff and a flail opposed to her usual arrangement. “I think I accomplished my goals pretty well. I killed your lover didn’t I?”

The ranger rushed her again, anklets keeping him a shadowy blur hovering on the edge of her blind side. Dahlia growled in frustration. She hadn’t had time to adjust to a new fighting style.

Where was Tiago?

Her flail caught the ranger on the wrist, knocking his weapon wide and out of his hand. Drizzt didn’t seem disturbed by this in the slightest, returning the favor by knocking her short staff to the stones, and blocking any chance she had to retrieve it. He snarled at her, spinning his sword in his hand.

“You think these people are your allies?” He taunted, “That you will somehow be rewarded for your betrayal?”

“I’ve already cut a deal.”

Drizzt’s barking laughter cut her, “You’ve done nothing but hand him a scapegoat. Someone to turn in to his matron when things go wrong. Or when you outlive your usefulness.” The smirk on his face gave her a chill, “They’ll drag you screaming into a hell your stunted little mind couldn’t imagine. What Alegni did to you is a backhanded slap to the face compared to what those women will enjoy in the name of their Spider Queen.”

Dahlia lunged at him, “How dare you?” she screamed, “You have no idea what I went through, you pampered little pet. You have no idea how I’ve suffered.”

“You don’t know the meaning of the word,” he shouted, kicking her solidly in the side and sending her sprawling on the floor. “You don’t know the slightest thing about what suffering is. What it’s like to be forced on threat of a goddess’s wrath to kill children and innocents. To have everything in your life ripped from you time and again by forces beyond your influence. To be beaten, belittled, and used day in and day out for decades, only to escape to the same behaviors in different people. To crossbows pointed at your face and doors slammed on you in a place you do not understand simply for the color of your skin.”

“You do not know what is to be in a darkness so deep it makes you less than human,” he kicked her in the side, sending her back down as she tried to rise and knocking the breath out of her, “a darkness that claws away at the back of every waking thought that you have, and the longer you spend alone with those thoughts the more handholds it gains.”

Another kick to the side and he rolled her over to face him. “Consider yourself lucky I got to you before the priestesses did. At least now your death will be swift.”

“Some mercy,” she coughed, mocking him to the last, “I am injured, defensless now, and by your logic, surrounded by enemies. I may be willing to surrender to you for justice, if I thought it would do any good. Why waste the effort to kill me? Revenge? For yourself? Or for Artemis?”

“Yes.”

She saw the sparkle of black, and thin line of red in his ear, and almost laughed. But the cocky smile faded from Dahlia’s face, replaced rapidly with a pale mask of terror.

He brought his blade down but before he could do more than scrape her skin, something caught his arm. For a moment, Drizzt thought he heard his father speaking to him. “Not like this. It’s not your way.”


	14. Sword-point or Side

He didn’t know how much longer he would be able to stay on his feet on his own power, but he had to do something. Scooping up Do’Urden’s fallen scimitar as he went, he came up behind the drow, hooking their arms at the elbow and stopping him from plunging his blade into Dahlia. “Not like this.” He said, his weak limb struggling against the strength of the ranger’s arm, “It is not your way.” Moments of tense hesitation followed.

He watched as Drizzt changed his grip with a flick of his wrist and slashed at him, barely missing as he jumped back, bringing his own stolen weapon to block. The vibration of metal on metal shot up his arm threatening to knock the blade from his hand and leave him unarmed.

The fire in the drow’s purple eyes told him he’d be done for if he didn’t act fast enough.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Drizzt knew the first swipe wouldn’t strike true, but relied on it to disentangle his attacker from him. The momentum carried him in a circuit to face the other man.

Artemis?

He was paler than normal, dark circles around his eyes, his breath short. The assassin raised his stolen weapon, its blue glow out of place and calm for the situation; his free arm was wrapped tightly around his own torso, as if holding himself together. He was slouching, legs shaky and unsteady.

“What kind of illusion is this?” Drizzt spat, barring his teeth.

“Drizzt, listen to me,” the man gasped, “Don’t do this.”

The ranger lunged for him, swinging his blade wildly. The human retreated a short distance to avoid the initial attack, put parried the last few swings with some difficulty. He coughed and sputtered a bit before settling into a pained wheeze, “Drizzt, stop,” he begged, “I don’t want to fight you.”

“Who sent you here?” the drow growled, “Quick? Or the priestesses?”

“I’m not-“ he tried to argue, but Do’Urden was back on him. The man tried to avoid the attacks rather than block them, giving ground and strafing to put space between them. By the time Drizzt relented again, they were back to where Dahlia was sitting, tunderstruck, on the stone floor.

Drizzt turned on her then, “Why?” he shouted, knowing she would have something to do with this. She knew they were lovers in Ashenglade, no doubt she would have wanted to use Artemis to get to him, just like Malice had tried to use Zaknafein centuries ago.

The thought of his father sent him back over the edge and he went for the elf this time.

Artemis, or the construct that wore Artemis’s face, stopped him with swing of a glowing blade. The drow’s agility was the only thing that stood between him and a slash to the chest. Not wasting momentum, however, the drow went into a spin. The man couldn’t get out of the way fast enough to avoid the counter, and Drizzt’s blade sliced a deep, red line into his face.

“Enough,” Drizzt snarled at the man, “I am sick of creatures like you.”

“Drizzt, I’m not undead. You have to believe me,” he gasped.

The ranger went for him again.

-0-0-0-0-0-

“I am sick of creatures like you.”

Creatures? Artemis’s thoughts scrambled briefly. Drizzt thought he was undead; some form of zombie sent to use his emotional state against him. The assassin struggled to find a way to convince him otherwise, but between his near-dead appearance, shambling walk and choppy speech, it was going to be a difficult sell. He was already out of breath and every gasping struggle for oxygen left him on the verge of an agonizing coughing fit. Everything doubled again and darkened.

“Drizzt,” he was trying to stay clear and focused, “I’m not undead.” He prayed to whatever god might have had the off-chance of hearing him that he might get through to the drow, “You have to believe me.”

Drizzt leveled his blade and came at him again. Artemis tried to raise Twinkle to block the flurry of blows, but couldn’t hold it. The blade didn’t fit his grip or his fighting style and even though the ranger was fighting him one handed, Entreri could not maintain his defense. The blade swung wide and his feet stumbled under him allowing Do’Urden to score several minor, yet very painful hits against the background of bruises and, until recently, broken bones. Not knowing what else to do, the assassin changed tactics, stepping inside the arc of the drow’s blade and ramming into him.

With a deep, held breath, Artemis managed to get free and away with minimal damage.

“Drizzt, please. Think for a second.” Artemis pleaded. “Stop this.”

But the ranger wasn’t listening.

The gap was rapidly closing between them, and Entreri was out of options. Do’Urden was going to kill him and Dahlia, and feel completely justified in the action. He knew he couldn’t fight off the inevitable, so he dropped the sword, but instinct took over anyway and he still dodged the first few swings. He was doing well until Drizzt grabbed him by the arm with his free hand and used his superior health and speed to knock the assassin from his feet and throw him to the floor.

The stone was more unforgiving than Artemis ever could have prepared himself for. The air rushed from his lungs, and electric waves of agony shot through him. The world went black and silent for several heartbeats before the cool bite air returned to his throat and expanded his wounded ribcage. He lay there, groaning and sore.

This was it. This was the end.

Do’Urden was going to kill him.

He blamed Jarlaxle.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Drizzt turned on his heel back to Dahlia, “You know about this,” he accused, “I know you do.”

The woman shook her head, black and red braid unravelling as she did so. Her face was pale and drawn, her single blue eye wide, “I-“ she stammered, looking from the ranger, to the human, and back again. She caught her breath, and smiled, “Fine,” she sighed, “You got me.” Dahlia pushed herself into a more comfortable position on the stone, “I had him brought back to use as bait, but you came to me on your own.” She laughed, “Perhaps I’ll keep him as a pet, so that he may never know peace.”

Drizzt leveled his blade.

“Liar!” Artemis’s voice rasped behind him, “Always the liar.”

“I seem to have lost some of my control over him,” she sneered, “you should kill him now, before he gets away and runs back to the spellspinner that made him.”

Artemis shouted again, but the sound couldn’t be considered a word.

She laughed again and tried to stand, but Drizzt knocked her to the floor a second time, his boot on her throat. Dahlia choked and sputtered against the pressure as a curved blade was aligned with her good eye.

A clatter at his foot gave him pause before letting the blade’s weight end the woman’s life; a tiny ivory unicorn head stared back up at him from the ground beside his boot.

Giving Dahlia a sharp kick to the ribs to keep her down, Drizzt picked up the trinket and stalked over the the fallen assassin, “How did you get this?” he demanded, settling the adamantine blade of his scimitar against the grey flesh of the man’s throat, “Answer me!”

Artemis just smiled at him, “You should put it back on,” he said, “You aren’t yourself without it.”

Drizzt snarled, sinking his blade deeper and eliciting a wince from the man and drawing blood along the metal’s razor edge. How did he get this? How could Dahlia and her allies have known where it was? It was the real thing, he was sure of it. But, how?

Unless…

Drizzt pulled his blade away, stunned, “Artemis?”

The assassin kept smiling, “I knew you’d see reason eventually.” He coughed, bright red lines of fresh wounds becoming more obvious, and painful, particularly the new one at his neck.

The ranger felt his heart sinking. He almost killed Artemis. He sank to his knees at the man’s side. “Artemis…” the words for an apology wouldn’t come to him.

“You’re a wonderful person,” the human groaned sarcastically, “Did you know that? Just throw the injured man trying to save your goodly soul on the cold, hard stone. Such a kind gesture. You truly are the paragon of kindness and mercy.”

Drizzt felt his eyes starting to burn, along with the vice tighting in his chest and threatening to weigh down his heart until it was ripped from him entirely.”I didn- I- Artemis…” he whimpered softly when the words still refused to come to him.

He heard the click of Dahlia’s boots behind him; heard her growl of rage, but when he turned around, he could not see her.

Jarlaxle was in the way, blocking the downward swing of her staff toward Drizzt’s head. He laughed mockingly at her, “I don’t think so.” He knocked her back, and spun to her side, scoring a superficial hit before she could raise her staff. In fact, she didn’t even bother to raise her staff at all; she chose to enact the magic of her cloak, and take flight as raven.

The mercenary leader cocked an eyebrow, and flicked his wrist, pulling dagger after dagger from his bracer to send after her. She went down after a few minor hits and Jarlaxle dashed to meet her when she fell.

Drizzt couldn’t leave Artemis’s side even if he’d wanted to. “I’m so sorry, Artemis,” he whispered once Jarlaxle was out of earshot. “I didn’t even-“

“It’s okay,” Artemis sighed, still struggling to breathe normally, “I would have thought the same thing.”

“So Jarlaxle…”

“And Arunika, yes.” The assassin explained, “They saved me. I’m not sure how well, given that I am still in agony after four days.”

Drizzt gingerly laid his head against Artemis’s chest, careful not to use his full weight.

_Ba-bump_.

Part of him wanted to cry, but he held it in check with a sniffle. “I’m so sorry,” he whimpered again before pulling away, “I lost myself. I could have killed you.”

The human didn’t seem too bothered, but that could have been because of the pain he was in.

“Can you stand?”

Artemis grunted, “I can try.”

Drizzt collected his blades before helping Artemis to his feet. When the assassin wobbled, Drizzt pulled him into a steadying embrace. He felt a hand go up to his hair and pull the tie holding it free, and ruffling the snowy strands.

“That’s better,” the assassin chuckled quietly.

They came apart a bit, all weak smiles and staggered breathing before Drizzt pulled the assassin back in for a proper hug. “I thought,” he whimpered between sad laughs and sniffles, “I’d lost you forever.”

“It takes more than a fall from a cliff to kill me. I thought you knew that,” Artemis laughed, pulling away again and trying to stand on his own power. He tottered a bit, and Drizzt caught him, pulling him in for a fervent kiss. The two men held tightly to each other, trying in vain not to let emotion overwhelm them.

Drizzt lost his fight and kissed the human harder, much to Artemis’s amusement.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Jarlaxle gave up the chase the moment he realized the dip in the raven’s flight had been a feignt. He sighed, not satisfied with letting her get away; surely, she wouldn’t report this kind of failure to her superiors, that kind of action would be foolish. Not that she would be able to in the direction she was going. But, he was not about to let Artemis leave his sight for long again after the man almost got himself killed.

Again.

He laughed quietly to himself, turning on his heel. The human was going to drive him mad; still near death after four days and he runs headlong into a fight with a ranger notorious for besting him. And _he_ was the crazy one.

The drow planned to have a long conversation with the assassin on the definition of ‘insanity.’

He heard the sounds of combat ringing down the tunnel and sped up the pace of his walk. The others would be there shortly and he needed to get Do’Urden, Entreri, and all of their companions as far away from the drow and Gauntlgrym as possible. He planned to rejoin the two, escort them all out and-

He stopped short at the mouth of the widened portion of tunnel Drizzt had fought Dahlia in. He blinked a few times, switched eyes for his eyepatch, even turned around entirely for a few seconds, but still the image that greeted him remained: Drizzt Do’Urden and Artemis Entreri locked in an embrace.

Wait. Not an embrace, Jarlaxle thought with a smile spreading almost painfully wide across his face, a _kiss_.

“Oh, Kimmuriel owes me _so much money._ ” He whispered to himself, careful not to disturb the couple in their moment.

He watched them break apart nervously like a couple of young lovers out at night behind their parents’ backs. Artemis fondled the fabric of Drizzt’s sleeve for a moment before his smile fell, “Is that…” he half asked, sounding only mildly offended. He raised a hand to the drow’s ear with a thoughtful noise and asked, “What else did you steal?”

“The rest of the liquor,” Drizzt confessed with a laugh. “To be fair, I thought you were dead.”

“That’s it,” Artemis said, though there was smile on his face; wide and genuine unlike anything Jarlaxle had ever seen on the man, “We’re done. I’m going back to Calimport. Good luck finding someone else willing to put up with you.”

They shared a laugh, cut short by the roar of Guenhwyvar nearby. The two looked around for the source and spotted Jarlaxle and halfheartedly tried to pretend the last several moments didn’t happen. Jarlaxle didn’t let his knowing smile falter, however, and the other two men just groaned in exasperation and stopped the attempt.

“That’s our cue to go,” Jarlaxle said, “The way should be clear now.”

Drizzt raised an eyebrow, “You brought-“

The other two men nodded.

“Let’s go, we’re wasting time.”

-0-0-0-0-0-

Athrogate led them to the entrance to the tunnels and asked the three companions just about as many questions as they asked him. Eventually, though, the two dwarves at the head of the group just settled for “damnable drow” as an explanation for the whole affair, and charged into the road to Gauntlgrym like warhounds, tearing down anything and everyone in their path.

They decided to make a game of it: fewest kills buys the celebratory ale.

Ambergris was not about to be bested.

The monk and the warlock were a little less enthused. “Do you think Drizzt came all the way out here?” Effron asked quietly as they trailed behind the dwarves. “For what? Dahlia?”

“It seems that Ambergris was more right than I thought” Afafrenfere sighed, “and there are few furies greater than that of a man whose lover was stolen from him.”

“That explains why you were so eager to kill Drizzt,” Effron laughed.

The monk bumped his hip into his companion causing the taller, younger man to stumble and nearly fall on his face. “Something like that.”

They hadn’t been trekking long when Guenhwyvar rounded a corner to meet them, slightly bloodied and ready for further battles. Athrogate nearly gave her one when rogue swing of one of his flails almost clipped the panther; but Ambergris tackled him in time to send his swing harmlessly wide and pin him to the floor. The great cat growled at them, shifting her feet impatiently.

“I think she wants something,” Ambergris said and the others nodded.

“Let’s follow her.”

And the cat bounded off, leaving the four scrambling to keep up with her. She roared occassionaly, when they thought they’d all but lost her, and the dark elves responded in droves allowing the dwarves to keep up their game, requiring no help from Effron or Afafrenfere; not that they minded much, preferring to not be useful than to step in the way of the waist-high malestrom.

Jarlaxle and Drizzt met them some distance later, with a surprising third to their group.

“Entreri?”

No one was sure who voiced the question, and no one really cared. The man was, in fact, Artemis Entreri and very much alive, if slumped heavily against Drizzt as the drow essentially carried him out of the caverns. A few moments of baffled questions concerning the assassin’s survival accompanied by the human’s own questions as to where Effron’s arm went, were all they were allowed before Jarlaxle whistled them to attention.

“The dark elves will be coming to clear us out,” he said, “let us go before we are outnumbered.” Muffled footfalls accentuated his point and had all but two of the group ready for retreat.

“Bah!” Ambergris scoffed, “We can take ‘em.” The assassin coughed in pain and her resolve fell a bit. “Okay,” she conceeded, “Maybe not now.”

“Bah!” Athrogate shot back, “yer only sayin’ that ‘cause yer in the lead.”

Ambergris punched him in the face and the argument was over before it even began.

And so, they retreated. Through corpse littered corridors of natural stone, guided by dwarf-sense and Jarlaxle’s knowledge of the the place. The sounds of muffled footfalls rallied them into a swift jog, though an open run was out of the question. At one point Afafrenfere stopped with Drizzt, to offer his shoulder to Artemis so the ranger might be able to pick a few off with his bow.

Drizzt tried to argue that he’d left his bow in Neverwinter, only to be shushed by Effron as the warlock passed him his weapon.

“Yes,” Afafrenfere said nervously, looking from Artemis to Drizzt, “We may have gone through your things looking for clues as to where you went.”

“I swear to the gods if I find out that one more person went through my stuff without my permission-“  growled the assassin.

“Oh,” Drizzt reached into a loop on his sword belt, producing a jewled dagger, “this is yours.”

Artemis blinked at the weapon, shocked, before taking it, “I don’t suppose you got my belt knife too?”

“Sorry.”

They were off again before Artemis could reply.

Sunlight, dim with the fading of the day, marked the end of their retreat and it was approaching just as fast as their persuers. Fresh air blew cool and clean in their faces laced with the smell of soil and distant pines. It was welcoming and welcomed in equal measure. The trees would offer safety and shelter, if they could only get to it before the dark elves caught up with them to drag them back into the darkness. Silver streaks from Drizzt’s bow bought them time, but not enough.

“Hold on,” Effron said, taking Drizzt’s arm so the ranger would lower his bow, “I have a better idea.” He tapped the foot of his staff against the stones with a twist. A shot of purple fire lit up the skulls of its head, winding down the bones of the body, and despersing across the floor to the closest of the fallen sentries. They convulsed, and shakily rose to their feet, hunched and groaning.

Several more began to rise in the distance.

“Impressive,” Drizzt laughed, slinging his bow over his shoulder and dashing after the rest of the group with Effron at his side.

“I try.”

Once out, and safely under the cover of the tree line they stopped to breathe, or wheeze in Artemis’s case, before continuing their course for Neverwinter at a brisk walk.

“You cannot stay in the city,” Jarlaxle said when Drizzt came up to his side, “Even if they don’t pursue today, they will know it is your group that did this.”

“I won’t force Artemis to travel any more than he has to in this condition,” the ranger argued, “If we are to leave, we will do so in the morning.”

“Fair enough,” Jarlaxle sighed. “What will you choose?”

Drizzt shrugged, “We can leave Luskan in the morning, or is that not far enough?”

The older drow thought for a moment, “Take a boat to Baldur’s Gate, you should be safe there.”

“I’ve heard _that_ before!” Artemis called out behind them.

Jarlaxle frowned over his shoulder at the assassin, “Fine!” he called back, “Go to Waterdeep, or Calimport, or Candlekeep, or _Chult_ for all I care, just don’t stay here.” He lowered his voice and returned to his conversation with Drizzt, “So long as you are away, if only for a short time. I’ll go and collect the rest of Artemis’s gear and meet you in the city. I won’t be able to stay though.”

“I can only imagine the words the priestesses in Gauntlgrym might have for the man they are purchasing their mercenaries from.” Drizzt laughed at Jarlaxle’s offended expression.

-0-0-0-0-0-

 

The sun was too low on the horizon to cast light outside of a deep red glow over the forest by the time the group had settled back in Neverwinter. Ambergris took Artemis upstairs to properly treat his wounds. Well, “To undo this hack-job ye call a healing,” were her exact words as she prodded the man up the stairs to his room. The inn keeper had managed to fix the door Jarlaxle had so unceremoniously kicked in, but said the cost would be added to the rent.

Effron retreated upstairs as well, after a time. Afafrenfere, however, decided the hectic day warranted a drink or four and passed Athrogate with a nod on his way to the bar as the dwarf snuck off upstairs.

Jarlaxle showed up with Artemis’s armor and weapon when they’d all settled in.

“I’m surprised he didn’t just bring it with him,” Drizzt snorted, remembering that Artemis had to use Twinkle in their fight.

“It was with his armor, not his belt,” Jarlaxle explained. “I didn’t want it where he could see it, lest he try to kill me.”

“He harbors a great deal of hatred for you,” Drizzt nodded, taking the items. He breathed deeply for a few moments before adding, “I don’t know how to thank you for this. For bringing him back to me.”

Jarlaxle’s sly smirk softened, “It was nothing, honestly. Just make sure he keeps his mind open.”

Drizzt nodded, “It will be quite the effort for someone as stubborn as he, but I’ll do what I can.”

“So long as he is open to talking to me someday, that is all I can ask for in return.”

“What happened?” the ranger asked, knowing he wouldn’t get an answer. Jarlaxle only shook his head, claiming the matter only concerned Entreri and himself, and that he hoped this little rescue on top of the one from Quick’s castle would help to assauge the human’s bitterness and anger. If only a little. The two dark elves shared a laugh at the prospect of anything diminishing the human’s anger; a man like Artemis Entreri could stay angry even if he was covered in kittens and puppies in a field of spring flowers.

Their conversation was cut short by a very grumpy looking Effron storming down the stairs. “I swear,” he grumbled. He spotted the elves and approached, “Ambergris says you can go upstairs and talk to Artemis if he’s still awake,” he told the ranger.

“Why isn’t _she_ telling me this?” Drizzt raised a curious eyebrow.

Effron made a face, “Because Athrogate caught her in the corridor.” He raised his voice enough so Afafrenfere could hear him from his seat at the bar, “Remind me again why we are in the room next to them and not across the hall like intelligent people?”

Jarlaxle snickered quietly at first but when Effron grumbled “it sounds like someone’s choking a boar to death with a goose on the matress,” he lost his composure and nearly fell to the floor in a fit of giggles. Drizzt’s willpower failed him and he joined in.

When the two elves regained their wits, Effron was gone to sit at the bar with Afafrenfere, and Jarlaxle had to take his leave.

“You can keep the dwarf for now,” he tried not to laugh, “I will collect him soon, but this is for the best.”

“Drow intrigue,” Drizzt sighed, “why do I feel that no matter how far I run I shall not escape it?”

“You are a coveted prize,” Jarlaxle said, clapping the ranger on the shoulder, “I’ll gather what I can and keep you informed on the matter. Dahlia may prove to be a problem, however-“

“I’ll be ready for her,” the mercenary leader wasn’t sure he liked the tone in which Drizzt spoke, “she will not be able to run forever.”

“Neither will you. But find a safe place to lay low,” Jarlaxle instructed with a tip of his hat, trying to mask the cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, “I will come for you when the coast is clear and I have information on Tiago and his alliances that might tilt the odds in your favor.”

“How-“ Drizzt almost asked, only to remember that this was Jarlaxle and of course he’d be able to find them, “So be it. I shall see you eventually.”

“Be ready for anything,” with that, the drow swept out of the inn, and back toward the dwarven ruin to see what he could find amidst the corpses and outrage.

-0-0-0-0-0-

The room was dark when Drizzt finally went upstairs. Effron hadn’t been too off the mark with his description of the noise coming from Ambergris’s room, but it wasn’t as loud when one was across the hall behind two closed doors. The soft smoke and spice of the cleric’s insense still hung thick the air and he could see it mixing with the motes of dust in the moonlight.

Artemis had decided sleep was the better option after his healing session, and snored softly into the down of his reclaimed pillow. Drizzt could still see the dark outline of bruise on the human’s back in the sliverly light. The sheets were still slung low in the warmth, and he could see that Artemis had taken the time to undress between the dwarf leaving and his falling asleep.

The ranger set down Artemis’s armor and sword with the rest of the human’s things in the corner of the room, before shedding his own articles of clothing and joining his bedmate. The assassin stirred at the shift in the bed, but settled quickly. Despite the man’s injuries, Drizzt couldn’t help himself but to sidle in close and rest his head against the human’s exposed back, finding the steady rhythm of his heartbeat before wrapping him in a loose embrace.

“What is that noise?” Artemis’s voice rumbled in his ear.

“I think it’s better if I don’t tell you,” Drizzt answered and felt the man shudder beneath him. “Jarlaxle says we have to leave in the morning,” he said, “and I’m inclined to side with him.”

“We need an even playing field,” the assassin agreed, “Neverwinter is their turf now, particularly with the allies they’ve chosen. If anything Ambergris told be about Quick being in Ashenglade is true.”

“We leave for Luskan in the morning.”

The human made an affirmative noise, and the two settled into silence for a while.

Drizzt felt himself drifting off to sleep when a thought tugged at his mind. It was silly, but he knew it would bother him until he gave it a voice, “Artemis?”

“Hmm?”

“Promise you won’t leave me again,” he requested, giving the man a gentle squeeze. “At least, promise me you won’t leave me on purpose.”

“Drizzt, I-“

The squeeze tightened, “Please. Just… You don’t have to mean it.” He didn’t like sounding so desperate.

Artemis chuckled quietly, “Drizzt, I couldn’t leave you if I wanted to. I’ve _tried_ remember? And yet here we are.” He sighed when the drow’s grip didn’t loosen, “It does not matter if I like it or not:whether it is as your sword-point or your side, I will be there. Always. Let’s face it, Do’Urden, we’re stuck with each other for eternity, we might as well make the best of it.”

The ranger relaxed against him, “I think I prefer side to sword-point,” he laughed sleepily.

“I don’t really see too much of a difference,” the assassin snorted, earning himself an indignant slap on the shoulder.

They drifted off to sleep.


	15. Epilogue

“What in the hells were you trying to accomplish?”

“Me?” Ravel whirled around, pointing an accusatory finger at the mercenary leader, “What were you thinking barging in here with Drizzt Do’Urden of all people and tearing into my sentries?”

“I did not ‘barge in with Drizzt Do’Urden’” Jarlaxle snorted, “I came to confront you about the dozen or so of my men that _died in Ashenglade_ after I warned you of the consequences, and just happened to run into the rogue and a surface elf, in your territory, on your watch.”

Ravel’s resolve faltered.

“Now,” Jarlaxle continued, “Where are you hiding her?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

But Jarlaxle was having none of this, “I know that the only reason she would even dare to be down here is if she had a chance at survival. She’s struck a deal with you, I’m sure. Give her to me, and your matron does not have to hear about this.”

“She isn’t here,” the Xorlarrin said after several moments of thought. “I haven’t seen her since before the incident with the rogue.”

“Do you have any idea where she would have gone?”

“Back to Ashenglade,” the spellspinner said with a shrug, “Or with Tiago.”

That gave Jarlaxle pause, but he didn’t show it. Where could Tiago have run off to? Gauntlgrym was his base, and he surely wouldn’t have run off to Menzoberranzan without Do’Urden. Something was amiss. “Have you spoken with Oblodra today? Is he still here?”

“I… think so.” Ravel said after some thought.

“Take me to him.”

Ravel led him down several corridors to the room they had given to the psionicist. Kimmuriel wasn’t surprised to see him. If Jarlaxle didn’t know any better, he’d say the psionicist had been expecting him.

Oh wait.

“Yes, Jarlaxle?”

“Leave us, Xolarrin,” the mercenary leader barked, sending the spellspinner darting away. Jarlaxle shut the door behind him and barred it with a nearby chair.

“”I expected you here sooner,” he laughed, “You’ve lost your touch.”

Grinding his teeth, Jarlaxle turned to face him, “I do not like being kept in the dark about the affairs of my own guild,” he accused, “particularly when my men are being so recklessly killed.”

“Of course you wouldn’t like being kept in the dark.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Kimmuriel laughed at him, “You’re a faerie now. You’ve grown accustomed to light. But the rest of us, we are _drow_ we belong in the Underdark.”

“There is much profit to be had here.”

Again, he was laughed at, “Oh please, we’ve been here nearly a century and we are bleeding money. It won’t be long before all your men are dead and I can take mine back to Menzoberranzan where we know we can earn our keep.”

Jarlaxle tipped his hat back. Without thinking, he slipped into a defensive stance, “What is this? A coup?”

“I’d like to think of it as a negotiation,” Oblodra replied taking a similar stance, “You surrender your power over Bregan D’aerthe and I won’t have to kill you for it.”

“Try.”

The psionicist closed the gap between them. “I don’t have to,” he smiled wickedly, “you already know what kind of pull I have and, but a portion, of the allies I have in my corner. You know that though you might be very, very clever, I will always be smarter, and more pragmatic than you, and that will win me the day each and every time,” He snapped his fingers, pointing at Jarlaxle’s face. “Ah, there it is. Regret. You should have known better than to place me in power.”

“And what,” Jarlaxle’s expression darkened, “is to stop me from killing you right here and now?”

“Because if you do, the mercenaries will require your direct leadership, if only for a time. That will draw you from your affairs on the surface and will be, how would you put it? ‘Hazardous to your investment’?”

Jarlaxle felt his stomach fall to the floor and his blood run cold. He let out sharp puff of air like bull ready to charge just to get Kimmuriel out of his face. “My investments,” he snarled, “are sound. And the guild is still mine, you will not take it from me.”

Oblodra shrugged, and with a sigh, agreed to bargain, “I will give you a tenday to settle your affairs within the guild and see reason. Should you come to my terms, you will be free to leave for the surface forever without casualty. Stall me, and be punished.” He pushed past Jarlaxle and unbarred the door, “Oh,” he added, turning around, “word of the wise: don’t run to Quenthel. Remember who she sided with when the Baldur’s Gate incident happened?” He turned on his heel and left Jarlaxle, his mocking laughter sticking the drow like pushpins.

Jarlaxle snorted again, alone in the room, or, at least, he thought he was.

“I might be able to help you.”

-0-0-0-0-0-

Drizzt slipped back into his breeches and picked across the room to sit on the window sill and watch the sunrise; one of the perks of having a room on the east side of the inn. He felt his heart lift with the sun and brighten with the world at morning.

But there was something else, a shadow weighing him down. It was bitter, angry, vengeful, and it left a sour taste in the back of his throat. He ran a hand through his tousled hair in an attempt to soothe his frazzled nerves. He groaned softly when it didn’t work.

“What is it?” The sound pulled the ranger’s gaze back to the bed where a sleep-rumpled, but very alert Artemis Entreri was watching him. “See something?”

“No,” Drizzt said quickly, “It’s nothing.”

“You made a noise, and now you’re making a face, it’s not nothing.”

“I’m not making a face,” Drizzt quipped, crinkling his nose.

“Oh so you’re just naturally that ugly?” Artemis chidded.

“If I’m ugly, what does that say about you?”

“That I drink too much,”the assassin laughed. He waved the elf back over to the bed, and after a moment’s hesitation, Drizzt complied. The ranger slipped onto the bed, curling up at the human’s side and resting his head on a warm shoulder. Once they were settled in, Artemis asked again, “What is it?”

“Just some unwarranted pessimism,” Drizzt sighed.

“Pessimism is very rarely unwarrented,” the human replied. They sat quietly for a moment before he followed up with, “Is it about what happened yesterday?”

“No,” Drizzt tried to deflect the question, but knew he was failing. “Well...A little.”

 “What _was_ that?” he asked, draping an arm around the drow so he couldn’t escape.

The ranger shook his head, “Nothing. I went after Dahlia-“

“And almost killed me,” Entreri pressed, “when I tried to stop you, wounded, I might add and without my own weapons.”

“I thought you were undead,” Drizzt argued.

“Don’t lie to me,” the human growled.

The ranger chewed his lower lip, “I wasn’t myself,” he confessed.

The human rolled his eyes, “I’d figured that much on my own. Drizzt Do’Urden doesn’t run into a dangerous situation alone unless it’s to help people. Getting revenge on Dahlia wouldn’t have done that, not then.”

“What does it matter?” Drizzt huffed, defensive. He pushed back out of bed, “You wanted her dead anyway.”

“Not in enemy territory like a crazy person. I wanted her dead on our terms, on our turf, not Tiago’s,” Artemis argued, “What you did was foolhardy. You attacked an informant when she could have been surrounded by allies.”

Drizzt scowled at him from his resumed position at the window, “I lost myself. I was emotional- I was angry and grieving-“

“An emotional decision sends you running in there swords drawn with a death wish,” Entreri cut him off, getting out of bed and throwing on a few articles of clothing as he did so. “You were going to assassinate her, for revenge.” Drizzt tried to argue, but Artemis grabbed him by the arm with a rough squeeze, “There was a fire in your eyes I’ve rarely seen. If you weren’t yourself, who were you?”

“It isn’t important,” the ranger tried to pull his arm away.

“It nearly killed me,” the assassin shot back, “I’d say it’s important.”

The drow tried to resist. He huffed angrily and tried to pull away, but he knew the assassin had him cornered. “It’s…” he hesitated, shifting his feet, “It’s a defense mechanism.” Artemis released him, “It’s not- When I’m distressed or in danger, or have to survive, I lose myself and most times I try to find something to kill… Sometimes a lot of somethings.”

“This has happened before then,” Artemis scowled, “Often?”

The ranger shook his head, “No. Not really.”

“Can you control it?” the human asked, “At all? You didn’t seem in control in Gauntlgrym, I doubt you’ve been yourself the other times.”

Again, the drow hesitated and the human’s expression went from mild concern to worry, “I can control what triggers it,” he explained hurriedly, “but once I slip, once it takes over, I can’t. I have to wait until I’m pulled out of it, or it wears itself out.”

The worry on Artemis’s dark features didn’t falter, “I’m surprised you haven’t slaughtered innocents.”

Offended, Drizzt didn’t think before answering, even though he knew he should have, “I’ve never taken a life I couldn’t justify taking as the Hunter.”

The assassin paled, “It has a _name?_ ” Drizzt shifted uncomfortably, “It’s starts with name. Then, gets a voice. You already talk to yourself when you think no one can hear you, how much longer before you start talking back-“

“ _I’m not crazy_ ,” Drizzt nearly shouted, before lowering his voice to a sharp hiss, “I am not crazy. I have it under control.” He pushed away from Entreri, feeling stifled despite the space of the room.

An alaming, rogue bubble of laughter formed in his throat and he struggled to swallow it.

“Drizzt,” The concern in the assassin’s voice wounded him, “I believe you, but I have seen enough crazy in my day to know what kind of dangerous road you walk.”

The ranger turned back to him and tried to hide the tremor in his hands, “I know,” he sighed.

They stood in uncomfortable silence for a while as the rising sun steadily brightened the room. Drizzt could feel fear and hysterical laughter battling to consume him in equal measure while he tried his damnedest to keep his face passive. It didn’t take long for the human to sense his distress; Entreri closed the gap between them and pulled him into a loose hug. The ranger returned the embrace, squeezing him tightly.

“The others don’t have to know, so long as you stay honest with me,” Artemis whispered in his ear.

“I think I’m slipping,” Drizzt said, opting to start the honesty immediately, “I think it’s getting away from me.”

Before Artemis could respond a familiar knock came to the door, “Oi!” Ambergris’s voice called, “Sunrise, boys, time to move out.”

The two men pulled apart and looked at each other. In those moments, they came to a silent understanding. Relief flooded through the ranger, and he was almost happy again as he and Artemis collected their things to head out with the rest of their group.

They set off for Luskan at mid-morning.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Complicated Orders](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12104499) by [livvylive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/livvylive/pseuds/livvylive)




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